


Confluence of Truths

by liasis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Death Eaters, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Identity Reveal, Memories, Metamorphmagus, Mother-Son Relationship, Mystery, POV Severus Snape, Pensieves, Relationship(s), Romance, Secret Identity, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Student Hermione Granger, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liasis/pseuds/liasis
Summary: Memories maketh the man. But Severus's memories reveal more to Hermione than she could have imagined - his childhood, his life as a spy, his sacrifices, but most intriguingly, his mother - and her shocking true identity. This is a story about the choices we make, and how they make us. This is a story about how love can find us, if we let it. Canon compliant, set in post-Deathly Hallows AU. SS/HG





	1. Into the Pensieve

"Professor?" Hermione called into the empty office, her voice echoing off of the cold dungeon walls. She frowned. He was usually here after his third class of the day, marking papers, planning for his next class, or attending to the numerous potions bubbling away. However, his body was not settled in his wooden chair, his head bowed over the stack of parchment as it almost always was. She peered into a storeroom, knocking on the heavy wooden door to alert him to her presence. He still was nowhere to be found, and she was slightly disconcerted. Hermione placed her schoolbag on top of a work table, determined to wait until he came back. She pulled out her History of Magic textbook and began studying the pages intently to pass the time.

After half an hour of waiting she was beginning to get restless. Hermione stood up and walked around the perimeter of the small room lined with wooden cabinets and shelves. She peered through the glass-paned cabinet to inspect one of the jars. There was a pickled fire slug inside, floating in a thick green liquid. She moved along the cabinets, inspecting the pewter and brass cauldrons stacked within each other, and then bottles upon bottles of ingredients, her eyes casting over the lovage, Jobberknoll feathers, and sneezewort. Everything was arranged in alphabetical order and in neat, measured amounts.

Hermione's attention was drawn to the cabinet behind Snape's desk. One of the wooden doors was opened slightly, and she could see a flickering, faint blue light within it. She looked about the empty office once more before stepping behind his desk, her hand pushing open the cabinet door to reveal a small Pensieve. The silvery thoughts floated within the liquid, swirling and glowing as if they had only just been added. Pensieves were exceeding rare, and despite having read about their function and how to use them, Harry was the only person she had spoken to about what it was like to enter one. She stepped closer to better observe it, overpowered by her intense curiosity and a desire to view this magical object that she had never seen before. She leaned over, amazed to see little figures playing out a scene - she assumed, a memory - below her. She bent over a bit further to see if she could hear what they were saying and before she could stop, she felt herself falling down, down into the Pensieve.

She landed on her feet, feeling a little shaken by what had happened. She did not know how to pull herself out, she thought, her stomach seizing in fear. If Snape were to find her... She blanched at the thought.

She looked around the room, wondering how to get out, and instantly realizing where she was. The tall shelves of the Hogwarts library towered over her, dusty and leaning in exactly as they did now. A few Hufflepuffs sat around a table a few feet from her, but they didn't notice her presence. As she turned around, parts of her vision became fuzzy, with entire areas she couldn't see at all. She walked around a bookshelf and found a small, thin girl who she faintly recognized. The girl was perched on a stool with her legs crossed, dressed in what Hermione guessed was a very old fashioned set of Ravenclaw robes. She wore a long grey skirt which went down past her knees, white socks and black shoes, a white blouse with bronze buttons, and a bright blue cardigan. Her black hair was twisted back in a bun, her black eyes scanning the yellowed pages of the book on her lap. Hermione noted that the page she was on explained how to brew an elixir to induce euphoria, which was quite advanced magic for someone who looked like they were only in their second or third year.

She watched as the girl flipped the page and the book slipped out of her lap, landing on the floor with the front cover lying open. Hermione recognized the book at once, for before the girl could snatch it back, she glimpsed a tiny scrawl of cursive which read "Prince" in the upper margin. As the girl closed it, Hermione viewed the clear lettering  _Advanced Potion-Making_  on the binding. Her heart leapt and, as everything grew faint, she tried her hardest to memorize the face of the girl reaching for her book. The face, she realized, of Severus Snape's mother.

Everything turned black. Hermione wondered if she would now be able to leave the Pensieve, but then immediately felt a cold wind whipping around her body, snow pelting her face and landing in her hair. She realized that she was now in a narrow alleyway on a bleak winter's evening. To her surprise, a woman was standing in front of her, a matured and beautiful version of the school girl, and she was digging through her handbag. Suddenly, two men rushed past where Hermione stood and knocked the woman into the brick wall, trying to snatch her handbag. Hermione's hand was instantly on her wand, but just as she remembered she could be of no help in a memory, another man who was walking by quickly wrestled the bag from one of the thugs.

"Get away from 'er!" he ordered, glaring at the two men with icy blue eyes and a cold stare. Hermione's heart lurched again. She noticed the way the woman stared at her savior with admiration, and then became aware of his lank brown hair, stooping physique, and his prominent hooked nose.

The location changed, and the woman from before appeared again, now arguing with a graying middle-aged lady dressed in a fine green silk dress. The stood in the plush living room of a well-to-do family.

"He's a  _Muggle_ , Eileen," exclaimed the elder, "who you haven't even told that you are a witch! You can't throw away your life for a Muggle!"

"I can prove to you that he's a good m-man." She wrung her hands, her dark hair trailing down her back. "Tobias is... d-different from other Muggles!"

"You can find a decent wizard to marry. Even... even a Muggle-born!" she cried, waving her hands in desperation. "But Muggles won't... they don't have the capacity to understand our world. Even if he could accept you for who you are, it will always be something that he doesn't have, he won't be capable of. You are a brilliant witch. Why would you want to spend your life with someone who will always be holding you back?" Eileen's mother was furious, but at the same time terrified for her daughter and the choice she would inevitably make. "At least tell him you are a witch before you decide to marry!"

After a few moments, Eileen closed her eyes, her pale face strained, tears forming at the creases of her eyes. She turned from her mother, wordlessly, to leave the room.

"Eileen!" her mother shouted after her, but everything faded away.

There was a glimpse of Eileen and Tobias at the altar inside of a church, only a few people in attendance at their wedding. The vision came and went quickly, and then Hermione was pitched into blackness again. After a few more moments, she found herself standing in a small bedroom with a bed, short dresser and large closet. The walls were a plain white, with only a few small picture frames hung upon them.

A much thinner and unhappy Eileen came running into the room, her eyes red as if she had been crying for some time. She opened up her closet and pulled out a small chest from beneath a pile of boxes. Her name, "Eileen Prince," was printed on the side in neat cursive. She knelt down next to it on the ground. Eileen opened her old Hogwarts trunk, her hands shaking as she picked through her old, frayed textbooks, her neatly folded Ravenclaw robes, a cauldron laying on its side and stuffed with old socks, a set of solid gold gobstones, and then last of all a long, elegant, black birch wand which she ran her fingers over. She began sobbing, wiping the tears from her eyes and flicking the wand into the air, watching as a light shone out of the end, flickered, and then went out. Hermione felt devastated for her. She had heard of witches and wizards losing their power from great sadness or loss, and she could not imagine it. She could not imagine that pain.

Eileen, with great concentration, cast a Disillusionment Charm over the objects before her. Everything within disappeared from sight, one by one. She locked her trunk, shoved it back into the closet, and hid her wand in one of her drawers. The heavy-browed man with dark hair strode into the room, his entire body in a state of rage.

"I knew," he began, in a thick accent, "I knew tha' you were strange from th' beginnin'. But this magic nonsense... Don't tell me tha' you actually think it's real?"

She looked up at him as she knelt next to the dresser. "I... I was b-born into a magical f-family. I went to school for it, to t-train. I'm a w-witch, Tobias." She spoke as though she had said these words many times, and as if she knew his reaction this time would be no different.

He stared at her with hatred in his eyes and raised his hand, bringing it down with such force against her cheek that Eileen cried out at the harshness of the slap. Hermione gasped, despite herself. Eileen's hand reached to cradle where the blow had connected and whimpered.

"Enough," he fumed. "Enough. I will no' hear about this magic again." He left, slamming the door behind him, and Hermione immediately understood that what had drawn Eileen to him in the first place was now being used against her. He was a brute. A monster. She watched as Eileen leant her body against the dresser, and sobbed and sobbed.

They faded before the room reappeared, this time a little grimier and darker than it had been. Tobias was nowhere to be found and Eileen was lying in bed, her back supported by pillows. There was a small white bundle in her arms. Emotion welled up within Hermione, for cradled next to her breast was a small baby who could not be anyone but an infant Severus Snape. He had a wealth of black hair, his cheeks a bright pink, his little tongue sticking out as he slept.

"I hope, for your sake, you aren't a wizard," whispered Eileen, laying a kiss on his soft forehead. Hermione stood looking over her shoulder, unable to comprehend the fact that a man such as Severus Snape had once lay in the arms of his mother. She could believe even less that he had come from such a family.

The memory changed and the family was now in a downstairs room of the same small, cramped home. A little black-haired boy was crying in a corner and Eileen was standing over him, shielding him from his father.

"How does he always manage to know wha' I am thinkin' of?" Tobias demanded. "I can list numbers in my head and he can guess them all. Sometimes I'll be sittin' in my chair and he'll appear out of nowhere when he couldn' 'ave been in the room before me. It's not natural, Eileen!" he yelled, daring her to make the explanation he knew she would.

"He's a w-wizard, Tobias," she sobbed. "He was b-born one."

"No," he said sharply. "You can be... be...  _mental_ , but you can' make him a 'wizard' too."

"I can't help it, please!" she cried, her knees buckling as Tobias stepped towards her, his hand raised again. Eileen flinched as he leaned down, ready to hit her, but his hand stopped in midair without touching her, impeded by an unseen force. He panicked, backing away, only to find his son's little frightened but hard, black eyes upon him. Tobias let out a small, manic gasp, then turned to the front door, opening it and slamming it behind him.

Eileen turned around and threw her arms around her small, scrawny son, drawing him closer. His arms wound their way around her neck as well as he sought comfort. "Severus, I'm so s-sorry... I w-wish I could have given you m-more," she wept. He could not have been older than four. His thin face bore a remarkable resemblance to his mother's, and he burrowed into her neck as he ached to be comforted. There was already so much similarity to his older self, his nose taking shape, his dark hair which hadn't been cut recently, his yellowed skin, his deep black eyes framed by heavy brows...

Eileen and Severus faded as the room changed. They were now in a smaller bedroom than the one Eileen and Tobias slept in, with a little bed and a thin Severus sitting on top of it. He was a few years older than he had been in the last memory. He was tucked under the duvet, a flickering candle sitting on the bedside table to light the room. His mother sat at his side, her arm wrapped around him as she read from the first year's Potions book,  _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , which lay open in his lap. Judging by how worn the cover was, it must have been the copy Eileen had used as a student. The look on Severus's face was intent and focused as he took in the information.

After a while Severus's mother stopped reading, closed the book, and had him lean his head against her chest as she stroked his hair. "Would you like to learn how to make potions, someday soon?"

Severus, despite how tired he was, perked up at the thought before becoming dismayed. "Won't Father be angry?" he asked in a small voice. Hermione stepped closer before sitting down at the foot of the bed. It was so strange to be in the room with them without them noticing. She could have reached out and touched Eileen's hand if she had wanted to.

"Yes, Severus, he would be very angry. But you and I, we can hide things like this if we wanted to. A potion can be disguised, not like spells or charms can. He would not know any better, and would probably think it's just soup on the stove. But we'll know," she said, smiling down at him, tugging at his ear playfully. He turned to look at her, putting his hand up to his ear and smirking in order to hide a grin. His smile was what Eileen had been hoping for.

"Mummy, why don't you ever do any magic?" he asked.

Eileen drew away, as though thinking about how she would explain, before she pulled him closer. "Well, my love, your father doesn't believe in magic."

"But... if it's real, why doesn't he believe in it?"

"I don't know, love. He grew up in a place where magic isn't thought to be real, so it's hard for him to accept it. He also might be angry that he can't do magic, and I can." She paused. "He doesn't particularly like things that he doesn't understand."

Severus was silent, before adding, "But you don't do magic much. Why would he still be angry? And if he will always be angry, why don't you do magic all the time anyway?"

She smiled fondly at his cleverness and responded, "It's complicated. But once you go to school you'll be able to perform as much magic as you want, without worrying what your father thinks."

"I'll go to Hogwarts in four years, right?"

"Yes, you will." She paused, looked around the neat but almost bare room, and said, "But right now, it's time for you to go to sleep." Eileen stepped out of his bed, put the book on the bedside table, kissed him again, and tucked him in tighter.

She moved to leave the room, at which point Severus exclaimed, "Mummy, you forgot to put out the light!" Eileen turned, feeling a little ashamed for forgetting, before a smirk which was identical to her son's formed on her face.

"No matter," she said, waving her hand in the direction of the flame. A strong gust of wind blew out the candle, the smoke rising from the burnt wick. Severus, pleased with his mother's wandless magic, smiled and turned into his pillow. Eileen shut the door.

The scene changed once more. Eileen was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table and Severus was standing at the stove, bits of leaves and berries in his hands, a cauldron brewing before him and the Potions book open beside him as he read. The room they were standing in then shifted into a Muggle charity shop, and Hermione watched Eileen dig through a bin of children's jeans and corduroys. Severus jumped out from the clothes rack beside her and she shrieked, before grabbing him and kissing him on the cheek repeatedly, then placing a shilling into his small hand and telling him to go find a toy he liked. Hermione noticed the other women in the store staring at them darkly. Then, there was a glimpse of a playground and Severus, in his ill-fitting clothes, talking to a young girl with bright red hair.

His mother's bedroom came back into view. Eileen laid in bed and Severus entered, now older than before. He ran towards his mother, a thick scroll of parchment in his hand.

"An owl pecked at my window so I let him in, and he gave me this!" he exclaimed.

"'Mr. S. Snape, The Smallest Bedroom, Spinner's End,'" read Eileen, wearily. "Well, it's addressed to you. Open it." She watched his face light up with glee as he read his acceptance letter out loud. Time must have passed for although they were in the same room as before, Eileen was now sitting on the ground, bent over her Hogwarts trunk. She used her wand to change the name on the side to "Severus Snape", and went through the trunk's contents after removing the Disillusionment Charm.

"Well, it's a good thing that the school books haven't changed because I kept all of mine. You're just going to have to use them because I only have a few sickles which will buy your robes. Oh, it won't be so bad," she said as she noticed his disappointment. "You're brilliant enough. You already have them all memorized, even the more advanced ones." She ruffled his hair, and he straightened it when she looked away. Eileen then cradled her wand, almost affectionately, before taking it by the tip and pointing the handle to her son.

"Take it, Severus." He looked up at her, his mouth open in astonishment. "It's birch, thirteen and a half inches long, and the core is dragon heartstring."

"But, Mum, it's your wand!" he exclaimed.

"We don't have the money to buy you your own, and besides, I can't use it here," she said simply. "It wouldn't have a true owner if it was sitting in my dresser drawer, waiting for someone to use it. It had no other options, so, in a way, it has chosen you. Now, give it a swish." He did, and Eileen watched as golden ribbons shot out of the end and fluttered back down to the floor in a heap. The expression in his eyes was one of true wonder.

Hermione blinked, and she was standing at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the scarlet Hogwarts Express hissing as it warmed up to leave. Among the mass of students she noticed with a shock a few faces she had only known through pictures, or as adults. Sirius Black walked right past her, his parents pulling his trunk. A scrawny James Potter appeared, a little further away, standing by himself next to a large cage with a tawny owl inside. She saw the girl with red hair from the faint memory before and a realization hit her - it was Lily Potter. She was waving at Severus, who stood near Hermione. His mother was there, her face white and bloodless as she bent to give her son a kiss goodbye. Tears were in her eyes, and Hermione could only imagine how terrible it must have been for Eileen to see her only child, the only one she loved, leave for school.

The hectic mass of people in the train station around her shifted, and she found herself in dormitories decorated in the green and silver of Slytherin House. Severus, much older than when she had last seen him, sat alone on his bed, his body shaking. Hermione leaned over his shoulder, reading the piece of parchment in his hands.

_Mr. Severus Snape,_

_We regret to inform you that your mother, Eileen Prince Snape, was brought to the Ministry of Magic to undergo a court hearing earlier today. She has been found guilty of attempting to murder your father, Tobias Oran Snape. He was found unconscious last night in his house located in Cokeworth. He has been treated for poisoning at a nearby Muggle hospital and will recover._

_At her hearing, Eileen Prince Snape was ordered to serve a life sentence in Azkaban Prison. However, because of her frail physical and mental health, she has temporarily been placed in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries to undergo treatment for her illness. Once she has recovered, she will be transferred to Azkaban Prison._

_We will continue to update you on her condition as she progresses._

_Regards,_

_Blodrick Grompton_

_Head Healer_

Severus stood up, Hermione now realizing his true age and height. He had to have been in his fifth or sixth year. He turned around, so furious and upset that he didn't know what to do. "I hate you!" he bellowed at no one in particular. Hermione was alarmed when he took the lamp from his bedside table and threw it to the ground, watching the glass break into pieces on the dungeon's stone floor. He kicked the table, watching it fall on its side, and then picked up a book on Complex Transfiguration, hurling it into the fire, causing sparks to fly. "How could you...?" he cried. "How could you let yourself be caught?" His deep voice cracked as his wand slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

Hermione watched as he sunk back down onto his bed and began sobbing loudly, his hands covering his face as he rocked from side to side. She knelt down next to the bed, her knees touching the ground, unaffected by the table or shards of glass which lay there. She had never seen him so uncontrolled, so full of despair, that she could not help as an overwhelming feeling of grief filled her as well.

After a long time he sat up and turned to the other side of his bed, digging through his trunk. He fished out his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ , opening up the cover and staring at the neat cursive of "Prince" which stained the page. Finding a quill and an ink well, he scrawled, "This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood" directly above and in front of his own mother's "Prince." He did not need to take care to match his own handwriting with his mother's. It had always been similar, for it was she who had first put a quill in his hand, moving it within her own to teach him his letters. He flipped through the yellowed pages, his tears dripping off his curved nose and spattering against the instructions and illustrations. Hermione could see the beginnings of the scrawled notes which would eventually cover those pages.

She could sense the wheels turning in his head. He would refrain from associating himself with his father's last name, at least in his own mind, for his father was the one who had refused to acknowledge his wife's magical skill and identity. It was  _his_  fault that Severus's mother was trapped in a world that was not her own and never would be, that she had been abused and unhappy her whole adult life. And now Eileen was the criminal, even though her husband had hurt her far beyond what was reparable.

Hermione saw someone moving in the shadows to her right, past the bed. She stood up, trying to make out who it was, before Severus Snape in his adult form materialized out of the darkness. She stared at him, watching him stare back, before she realized with a jolt to her stomach that the scenery hadn't changed. His adolescent self was still sitting on the bed, sniffling, and Hermione's head snapped back to the Severus which had appeared, her face blanching and then turning a bright red. She had been caught.

"I - Professor Snape, I-I," she choked, stopping short from the expression on his face.

"Time to go, Miss Granger," he snarled, grabbing her elbow and jerking her upwards. Her stomach turned as she was pulled up and out of the Pensieve, landing back into her feet, which she realized smarted from how long she had been standing there on the hard flagstones. Severus Snape's face was whiter than she'd ever seen it, and his voice seethed with so much anger he had difficulty controlling it. "What could possibly possess you to go through my private cabinets, you impudent girl! How dare you touch what isn't yours?" She made to open her mouth but shut it promptly, her whole body trembling, seeing that he was not finished. "But you decided to take special liberties with me and my things, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?" he bellowed, swooping down closer and standing over her, his face flushed but hard as stone, his black eyes penetrating hers. She knew that he could instantly see everything that she had seen.

She stepped back, looking away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she choked, sorry about looking through his memories, sorry for everything they had contained.

"Out - get - out," he spat, venomously, pointing towards the door. He watched, fuming, as she tearfully grabbed her bag and open book, running out of his office to escape his wrath, leaving him alone. His head bent over the Pensieve, staring blankly into its depths before sighing deeply, sadly, picking it up and putting it back into the cupboard, locking it with his wand as his hands shook with anger.


	2. The Deal

Hermione ran to put as much distance between herself and Snape as possible. She slowed when she came out of the dungeons and from there she walked up the moving staircases, rushed into her private room on the fifth floor, and dropped her things onto the ground.

Hermione slumped into bed and stared at the wall, her eyes wide open. She had only been down in the dungeons to inquire for help with an especially difficult essay he had set, but her curiosity had simply gotten the better of her. She felt gutted. It had been such a silly mistake, to look into his Pensieve - what had she expected to see, to happen?

 _Not that,_ she admitted, thinking back to the black-haired boy, his mother cowering in fear over him.  _Certainly not that._

His father, abusive, a Muggle. His mother, a pure-blood witch. Somehow, seeing the faces of his parents gave her the sense - only now, despite everything - that Snape was truly a man just like any other.

His memories - surely, not only  _his_ memories - brought to her mind the answers to questions she had never even had before, and then, really, only left her with more uncertainty. Where was his father now? Was his mother still in Azkaban? How had Snape managed to transform from a curious little boy into a highly intimidating - and some would say loathsome - Potions master, Death Eater, spy?

She thought she had known him better, better than most, even, after last summer. But she realized now that she didn't have the faintest idea who he really was. And despite their shared history - despite what she had done for him - she felt as though she never would. This surely was the final break in their confidence. She knew there was little chance of his forgiveness now.

Crookshanks had come up to curl next to her neck, but he didn't make her feel any better. She pulled her wand out of her robes, set alight a small fire in the grate, and placed the wand onto her bedside table.

Her room was simple and small, the walls painted a light yellow and decorated with a few S.P.E.W. posters and a full-length mirror. Her bed sat against the left wall, the fireplace to the right as one walked into the room. There was a window straight across from the entrance which allowed her to look out upon the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Her desk sat under the window and to its right was the entrance to her own small bathroom. It was dark outside, as it was far past sunset.

Hermione realized the true length of time she had been in the Pensieve – at least an hour - and was confused as to why Snape hadn't found her earlier. She replayed what she had seen in her head over and over again, her reflection bringing more guilt and eventually giving way to sleep.

.

.

.

Hermione woke up early in the morning. She stood up and looked into her mirror, feeling and looking slightly miserable. She didn't know if she could go down to breakfast and chance catching Snape's glance from the staff table, and instead went to the kitchens for breakfast. She asked for a small bowl of porridge and some orange juice, which she ate as she sat on the floor by the fire.

The castle was becoming gloomier by the day as it was early January, cold and snowy with none of the holiday cheer from before. The house-elves were hard at work behind her as they prepared for lunch, standing on stools, bending over stoves, chopping vegetables, stirring soups, and braising meat on a griddle. The kitchens always smelled wonderful and were very inviting, and there were generally at least two or three students sneaking in for some snacks. Hermione noticed that today, however, she was the only one there.

She stared into the fire, force-feeding herself the porridge and sipping from the juice even though it made her feel a little queasy. Hermione heard the bell toll seven and realized classes would start in an hour.

Hermione walked up the staircase leading into the main Entrance Hall and sat in the empty Transfiguration classroom, not feeling quite herself. As a result, her lessons went much worse than usual. The seventh years were beginning the more advanced levels of Human Transfiguration, and Hermione kept unintentionally changing her foot into that of a toad rather than the desired duck.

Professor McGonagall transfigured her foot back to normal before pursing her lips together. She admonished, "I won't allow you to perform magic if you are struggling to concentrate." Hermione was visibly unhappy and McGonagall, knowing that she wasn't being herself, asked, "Are you ill, Hermione? Why don't you go to the Hospital Wing to be seen to? You're dismissed from my class."

Hermione pursed her lips as she gathered up her things, tears annoyingly forming in her eyes as she left the classroom. She hated anyone babying her, especially McGonagall, and although she did feel a bit poorly, nothing was worse than missing class because she couldn't meet her professor's expectations. Instead of going to the Hospital Wing she went to her room and closed the door, flopping onto her bed again.

She realized, with despair, that she had double Potions later. There was simply no way she could suffer two entire class periods with Snape breathing down her neck, waiting for her to do something wrong. Finding no other option and though her stomach felt as if it could not take any more guilt, she resolved to skip Potions class that day. She dressed herself in a red nightdress despite the fact that it wasn't yet noon, and slipped back into bed.

Hermione woke feeling flushed, sweaty, and fevered, the weight of Crookshanks on her chest adding to her irritation. She pushed him away and sat up. She coughed, rubbed her eyes, and realized that she truly was sick, most likely a run-of-the-mill cold or perhaps flu that spread like wildfire this time of year. The black sky past the window told her that she had slept all day, but somehow it had only worsened her condition.

The fire in her hearth turned a bright green. A letter addressed to her in small black cursive shot out onto her carpet next to her bed. She bent down to pick it up, the blood rushing into her head and dizzying her. She sat up against her pillows and broke the green seal, her hands shaking.

_Miss Granger,_

_Because of your deliberate failure to attend class, thirty points will be taken from Gryffindor House. I expect you to serve detention in my office at 8 o'clock this evening as punishment for your actions._

_Professor S. Snape_

Hermione angrily tossed the letter to the foot of her bed. How could he expect her to serve detention in her state? Professor McGonagall was Headmistress; surely she could cancel the punishment. And to take away house points?  _Thirty_  of them! It was outrageous!

She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece and was surprised to see that it was already seven thirty. Hermione stood up and went to put on her school robes, her equilibrium thrown off by her stuffy head and high fever. It prevented her from moving quickly and consequentially she took five minutes to get dressed. She was not hungry for dinner but, grumbling to herself, figured it was best to get her inevitable detention over with rather than making things worse for herself by not going.

She started down the corridors, her head spinning as she found her way along the many portrait galleries which lined the walls. An older woman from within one frame ordered her to go straight back to bed but Hermione shrugged almost indifferently. She gripped the banister to walk down the stairs, her legs unsteady beneath her. After descending four flights of stairs she reached the ground level, then taking the staircase to the dungeons. She wound through the maze of passageways to find Snape's office, succeeding after losing her way twice.

Hermione knocked on his office door and placed her hand on the stone wall next to her to keep herself up. She felt very faint; something was very wrong. She watched the door open in front of her and the white face of the Potions master peered down upon her own.

"You're late," he growled, before watching her step towards him and noticing how she shook. "Miss Granger," he began, "are you-"

She slumped over against the wall and he quickly withdrew his wand, twirling it towards her to cushion her fall as she silently dropped to the ground. He peered at her, his brows furrowed, before he levitated her body. He sent her before him through several passageways, deeper into the dungeons, his footsteps the only sound.

He looked down into her red face, her eyes closed, sweat shining on her forehead. She must have been very ill for she didn't seem very conscious of what was happening anymore. Snape stopped at a door, twisted his wand towards the handle, watched as the door swung open, and stepped inside. With the flick of his wand he started a fire in the grate, throwing an orange glow onto the stone walls of the small living area. He set her down onto a black sofa facing the fireplace, then used his wand to deepen the seat of the settee so that it was almost the size of a bed. He bent over her, conjuring a pillow and placing it behind her head. He then, after a moment's hesitation, placed his fingers on her forehead and felt them singe against the heat of her body.

Was it something that she had eaten? Was it a simple Muggle infection, or something more sinister? He was no mediwizard, however as Potions master he often assisted Madam Pomfrey in brewing medical potions for the students.  _Ah, yes_ , he thought, looking her over and finding the trademark red rash along her throat.  _Scrofungulus_. It had been going around the school, although this appeared to be a particularly nasty case. With proper care she would heal, however she would have done well to have gone to the Hospital Wing hours earlier.

Snape stood up and left, Hermione barely conscious and unable to understand most of what was happening. She turned her face into the cold pillow, finally enjoying some slight relief, only to feel Snape's fingers on her cheek and hearing him ask her to open her mouth as he poured a smooth potion into her throat. She heard the uncorking of another bottle, felt the cool glass against her lips, and then immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Snape stood up and turned around as the flames in his fireplace became green, watching as Professor McGonagall stepped out of them. She looked sterner than ever, her light blue eyes piercing his, her hands folded together. Her eyes glanced over to Hermione lying on the settee and then focused upon Snape.

"So, the portraits were not telling fibs. Severus," she began, her voice attempting to remain balanced, "may I ask why Miss Granger is asleep on your sofa in your private chambers?"

He stared back at her, drawing himself up to his full height and narrowing his eyes before explaining. "Miss Granger was meant to serve detention with me this evening for missing class this afternoon, but I have found her to be much too sick to carry it out. So sick, in fact, she could barely stand. Her health needed attending to, and seeing how I had the necessary potions and she was too weak to take to the Hospital Wing, I have decided to treat her here. Is there a problem, Minerva?"

"This is improper, Severus, and you know as well as I do-"

"What is improper is allowing your Head Girl to wander about the castle when she was quite ill and should have instead been under someone's care," he said, his tone acerbic. "As Headmistress, you certainly have jurisdiction over me and my actions. However," he paused, his face cold and impassive as he lowered his voice and muttered, "I believe attending to her and allowing her to rest until she is well enough to return to her dormitory is the least I can do." He watched the direction of her eyes, waiting for them to shift towards the scarred skin of his throat, but her stare never wavered.

McGonagall pursed her lips together even tighter. She looked down at Hermione again with some concern before stepping back into the fireplace. "Severus… be careful," she warned, her body engulfed in flames and then disappearing, leaving a red blazing fire behind her.

Snape stood rigidly, watching the flames dance, before turning towards his patient. He conjured a thick blanket and laid it upon her. She would no doubt suffer from cold chills throughout the night as her fever broke, and he didn't want her body temperature to drop too far. His face hovered over hers for a moment before he turned away and stood up, walking into his own bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

.

.

.

Hermione sat up, confused. She knew where she was, but didn't have the faintest idea as to how she had wound up there. A small window high in the stone wall let the weak sun shine through, and she could see a few birds circling up in the blue of the sky. It must have been at least noon, judging by position of the pale sun. She laid back down and realized that she was lying underneath a blanket on Snape's settee. What did this mean? Her mind leapt, however she shook her head. No. He was only repaying her for what she had done for him, nothing more. She slid out of the bed he had made for her and looked around the room.

Hermione had been there before, and was in fact well acquainted with his rooms. She knew that there was a small kitchen to the back of the living area. Snape had a sofa, armchair, and fireplace where she was now, and a little bedroom with an adjoining private lavatory in the next room over, behind the armchair. It was not much, but he didn't need much space to live on his own.

She realized that she was still wearing her school uniform. She took off her already loosened tie and unbuttoned the top buttons on her shirt so that she could breathe easier. Her hands went to her neck, still hot from the infection.  _Scrofungulus_ , she thought to herself, mentally berating herself for not going to the Hospital Wing at the first sign of illness. When would she learn that magical illnesses usually come on quickly and intensely, unlike the Muggle illnesses she had grown up with? She had been caught out on other occasions but had never before let it get so bad.

Hermione stood up, her head still a little hot, and hesitated before perusing the selection of novels and manuals in the bookcase which hugged the wall around the fireplace. A feeling of guilt tugged at her stomach, telling her that she had already betrayed his privacy once - but she told herself, quietly, that books were  _meant_  to be read. She was fascinated by his collection, representative of a wide range of interests, everything from encyclopedic spellbooks to texts on Herbology, wandlore, and even Divination. She pulled down a leather-bound volume on Mythical Beasts of Ireland which particularly interested her. She knew that Snape taught classes until late in the afternoon and wouldn't be back for a while, unless he decided to drop by, which, she thought, would be quite out of character for him.

Classes! She tried to calm herself down when she realized how much she was missing. Although, in retrospect, she felt that Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy wouldn't be too difficult to make up, but Ancient Runes was trying at the best of times. She sat down on the edge of the sofa-bed, flipping through the beautifully illustrated volume.

A loud pop surprised her, as did the sight of a small house-elf with abnormally large ears standing in front of her and carrying a plate in her hands. "Flappy brings you lunch from the kitchens, Miss," she piped. She thrust the silver dish into Hermione's lap and on top of the open book, before disappearing without another word.

Hermione was thankful but felt a little guilty, for she wasn't hungry at all. She took a few bites out of the egg and cress sandwich before lying on her back. She drowsily read the book before drifting off to sleep with it open upon her chest.

Hermione woke up to the sound of a door clicking shut and footsteps upon the slate tiles. She turned onto her side and heard the book that had lain on her close with a loud thump.

"Interesting book?" drawled Snape, watching her sit up and turn red from embarrassment. She handed it to him, unable to say anything, and he took it from her, placing it on the table from where her lunch had disappeared. He stood near the edge of the settee. "Are you much improved?" he asked, his black eyes boring into hers.

"A little," she answered.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little," she repeated.

He reached within the cloak he wore and pulled out a small brown bottle. "Drink this. It will make the fever subside." He watched her as she followed his instructions. She gulped it down, lowered the bottle, and handed it back when she finished. A cooling sensation went through her chest and she pulled the blanket over her as she shivered. "I had Miss Weasley gather some of your things so that you would be able to sleep in something other than a school outfit tonight. Your bags are right outside the lavatory, when you need them." He gazed into the fire which had been blazing all day.

"Professor?" asked Hermione, to gain his attention. When he turned around to look at her she said, a little awkwardly, "Thank you for... the potions. I'm really... sorry about... the Pensieve. I shouldn't have looked at it, I didn't mean to enter it, and-"

He held up his hand to silence her and said, "You must learn to understand the importance of privacy, Miss Granger. You cannot take the liberty of diving into any Pensieve readily available at your own leisure." His words ended with a bitter tone, but he began again with less hostility, stepping away from the fireplace and reaching for the book she had borrowed which lay on the table. "However, I was slightly... out of line, for yelling," he said, placing the book back in its place on the shelves.

She frowned. It wasn't like him to apologize.

Snape took out his wand, waving it towards the back of the room. A pile of parchment shuffled itself and flew through the air before coming to a rest on Hermione's lap. "Miss Weasley also gathered your work from your professors, so that you would not fall behind in your studies." He also summoned a quill and an inkwell from a drawer in the back of the room. He moved the small table near her closer so that she could lay the inkwell upon it.

Hermione left for the lavatory and changed into more comfortable, loose fitting robes before she got to work, scratching the quill against the paper. Snape could see that she was nearly well again, breaking only once or twice to close her eyes and rest. He sat down in his armchair with a book in his lap, and neither broke the silence. After an hour, Hermione heard the pop of a house-elf appearing, and before she could turn her head to look it was gone.

"Dinner," Snape told her, curtly, rising from his chair.

"But I thought you ate dinner in the Great Hall," she said, laying down her quill.

"If you would rather eat alone, you need only say so," he stated, the levitating plates hanging in midair between them. Hermione looked at him intently. Why did, even when he was being kind, he have to find a way to be rude? Was he trying to bait her into saying something regrettable back?

"That's... not what I meant," she said, quietly.

After a pause, he asked, "I assume you are well enough to sit at the table?" She nodded and stood up, feeling less dizzy than before, and followed him towards the back of the room. He sat down at one end of the table and conjured a matching wooden chair for her at the other. Her plate traveled the four feet between them and lowered itself to sit in front of her.

Hermione started eating her stew. The silence was heavy between them, and she was worried that she would inadvertently cause another argument. She watched Snape as he sipped the broth and pulled his roll of bread into little pieces. She looked down into her own bowl, feeling awkward and wondering why he would ask her to dine with him if he wouldn't speak to her.

After finishing her dinner, she broke the silence with a question that had been on her mind ever since she had left the Pensieve. "Professor, if I may ask - your mother - is she still alive?"

He looked at her coldly, paused, and nodded. "Yes, Miss Granger, she is."

For some reason, this information caused her heart to soar. She was alive! Snape's own mother, who loved him so when he was little, who had given him everything she owned, was alive! "Where is she? Is-"

"Miss Granger, you cannot wander into my memories unwelcome and then demand that I elaborate any further." A feeling of sadness welled up within her and she sighed, watching as Snape folded his napkin and laid it on the table. "However, if you would like to know, we need only to look into my Pensieve for an accurate account. But first," he said, smirking a little, "it is only fair to procure some of your memories, which we could in turn experience together. There are several I would be... interested in viewing."

She was surprised that he would suggest it, and was slightly worried - she didn't know if she would want to share the memories he wanted from her. But, then, she had broken into his memories without the slightest permission, and she realized now what a violation it had been. "It's only fair. And then?" she asked, leaning forward.

After careful consideration, he replied, "I will share selected memories of my own, in return."

"Until?"

"Until we find a suitable ending point."

"Is  _that_  why you're taking care of me?" she accused, with indignation in her voice. "To secure a memory?"

"No." He looked away, and then his eyes bored into hers. "I owe you my life, Miss Granger," he said, as though the thought pained him, "but you also owe me the memory."

" _The_  memory?" she inquired. "What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well. Now, when you have finished eating..." She nodded to let him know that she had finished and stood as he motioned towards the door. "I would advise wearing your cloak." Hermione retrieved it and followed Snape out into the cold dungeon passageway, around a few corners, and into his office. He pulled the Pensieve out of the cupboard and placed it on the table in front of them. The surface was still, and the liquid black.

"Your memory, Miss Granger." He stood over her, his features dark and emotionless, watching as she pulled her wand out of a small thin pocket within her robes. He held out his hand above hers, palm flattened, to stop her. "I shall do it," he ordered, and touched the tip of his wand to her head.

Snape, standing over her like this with his wand tip in her hair, instinctively caused her to be overcome with terror. The thought that he might kill her, might Obliviate her, or any number of terrible things, streaked through her mind. It was not from any conscious thought, but simply from a deeply ingrained fear which came from being at the end of another witch or wizard's wand. She calmed herself, knowing none of these things would happen, although she gripped her own wand tightly. She then thought of another reason.  _Does he not trust me to give an untampered memory_? she thought, and as his eyes bored into hers, he stated, "I will not hurt you. This is difficult magic for someone who has never done it before." He paused. "Simply allow the memory to fill your mind."

She did as he said, assuming she knew which one he wanted but still feeling uncertain, and he slowly extracted several wisps of a glowing thread-like substance. She gave a small gasp as they broke away, and he transferred them into the Pensieve. They watched together as the surface churned and became a bright blue.

"You first, Miss Granger," he spoke, his throat tightening. She obeyed, her face touching the cool liquid and her feet suddenly going out beneath her, landing softly on the dusty, rotten floorboards of the Shrieking Shack.


	3. The Desired Memory

Snape and Hermione stood together in a corner by a boarded window, watching as a pale, bald man in dark robes stirred to their left. Hermione shook as she realized that it was Voldemort, standing so close to her that she could make out the lines in his face and the blood red of his eyes. She looked up at Snape, who stood beside her, and though he showed no fear she knew that he could not have wanted to live through this moment again. He was watching the Snape which stood in front of him tremble with fear as Nagini floated through the air, ready to strike.

" _Kill_ ," hissed Voldemort. Hermione looked away as she heard Snape's awful sputtering, a sound that told her Nagini's strike had been true, and she had torn through his throat with her fangs. She heard the snapping of wood underneath Snape's body, the loud thump as he hit the ground, and she shivered as Voldemort passed right by her and out the doorway, compassionless and cruel, his wand held tightly between his slender fingertips.

She turned back towards the Snape which lay on the floor and watched as blood poured out of him, his fingers trying to hold the tissue of his neck together, gasping for breath and making horrifying gurgling noises as he struggled to summon any air. Hermione could barely watch.

Harry appeared from his hiding spot, despite the hidden Hermione's attempts to stop him. As he leaned down near the wounded man, Snape clutched the collar of his shirt and placed his memories within the vial Hermione, who had appeared, conjured. As Snape let go, Harry turned to leave. Hermione, although panicked and unable to think from fear, exclaimed, "Harry, we can't just leave him! We have to do something!"

"Hermione-"

"He's a  _professor_. Lord Vol... Voldemort only wanted him dead to control the Elder Wand, but..." She paused, her mind running with thoughts as she came to an alarming conclusion. "Voldemort wasn't smart enough to realize-"

"He's a traitor! He murdered Dumbledore! How could I feel anything more than pity for him?" he exclaimed. Ron had appeared as well, standing behind Hermione, his face white from the gore of the scene, unable to speak.

"Harry,  _listen to me_! Can't you see? Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, and in the Astronomy Tower... Draco disarmed him! Draco was the wand's true master! And then at the Malfoy's, you took Draco's wand from him, meaning... Harry, do you understand what I'm saying?" She paused. "Which means Voldemort was right, in a way... but wrong about who had mastered it. Snape is going to die, and for no reason at all!" She turned back towards the man on the floor, intent on finding a way to save him. Hermione, standing against the wall next to Snape as she viewed her memory, recalled the desperation of that moment. She watched herself in the memory, her hands shaking uncontrollably. " _Vulnera Sanentur,_ " she whispered, kneeling at his side, laying the edge of her wand onto Snape's destroyed neck and throat. He was unconscious, almost dead and barely able to breathe. " _Vulnera Sanentur_..." Her hand was shaking harder. The wound was stitching together, but not fast enough, and she didn't know what the venom was doing to him. Another minute, and he would surely die. "Ron, send a Patronus for help... Anything!"

He was barely able to manage it, but he sent a silver barking dog zooming down the stairs and out of the Shrieking Shack. He then sat down and put his head in his hands, quivering. Hermione remembered - Fred had only just been murdered. Everyone's head snapped up as a high pitched voice came in from all directions, daring Harry to meet Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest before midnight. Hermione watched as they looked from one to the other, and then back to Snape, who was motionless.

"Hermione, he's gone," Harry said angrily, as though she was wasting his time.

She placed her hand upon Snape's chest and felt for a heartbeat. It was faint, but present. "Not yet," she retorted, "but you should go. He gave you those memories for a reason, Harry. You only have so much time, and they might help-"

"What could  _he_  have to show me?" he asked, turning on her, his hands in fists and his voice full of spite. Hermione remembered trying to understand how he felt. He hadn't slept in days, he was hurt, the friends he had known and loved for years were laying down their lives for him, and all he wanted was for it to end. She knew that he was enraged not with herself, or with Snape, but with the battle and Voldemort.

"I don't know, but if it was the last thing he was to do, then... then I would think that it was important you go and-" A piercing cry rang out, Hermione's heart pounding in fear as a mass of gold and red broke through a boarded window, swooped into the room, and landed at her side. "Fawkes!" she exclaimed, in recognition of the Phoenix. The creature bent its head, tears flowing from its eyes and falling onto Snape's skin, trailing down his neck and into his mouth, the wound shrinking and the flesh connecting back into a semblance of what it had been. When Snape took a ragged, deep breath, Hermione gave a cry of surprise. "Thank you!" she cried to the Phoenix in astonishment, gently reaching out and stroking its feathers. The bird, in return, nuzzled Hermione's cheek with his beak. She looked up and said, "Harry, go and take Ron back to the castle. I'll see if I can get Snape there, but what is most important is that you get back safe. There should be a Pensieve in... in the Headmaster's office. Go, now."

He nodded, a look of resolution on his face and his hand clutched around the small vial, not seeming as though he cared whether or not Snape survived and focused only upon what he had to do. He pulled a despondent Ron to his feet and left without another word. She turned back to Snape, looking at his ghastly pale face, and placed her hand against his throat. It was warm, as a wound was when fighting infection, and soft as though the skin were new. She felt his cheek, the skin creased and cold, and then reached towards his curtain of hair splayed across his face, brushing it away, expecting it to be greasy and slick. However, as she ran her fingers through it, she realized it was shiny and limp. It fell from her hands as smooth as water would. The Hermione which stood next to Snape blushed at the liberty she had taken with him.

The Snape on the ground gave a small groan, his head turning towards her and his eyes opening for an instant before shutting again. She pulled her hand away and exclaimed, "Professor! What... what should I do?"

"Apparate, into Hogwarts," he rasped, his bloodied hand reaching back up towards his neck as though he couldn't believe it had healed.

"But sir, you can't Apparate into Hogwarts," she insisted. "I can try-"

"Anti-Apparition... lifted."

Understanding dawned over her. "Where?"

"Dungeons," he responded, his deep voice wavering. Hermione stroked Fawkes, who had sat by her side the whole time, before laying her hand upon Snape's forearm. She concentrated and the room swirled around the four who had been in it. Both pairs of Hermione and Snape found themselves in the area of the dungeons which lead to the main staircase and up to the Entrance Hall. The halls above were silent, for the fighting had stopped a while ago. There was no one in sight where they were; it was eerily deserted.

"Help me," Snape demanded. She took his arm and put it around her neck, pulling him up with difficulty because of the difference in their height. He staggered before finding his feet and then leading her through the warren of thin, damp passageways in the depths of the school. Snape stopped at an unmarked door and opened it, revealing a small living area. He pointed towards a room through another doorway at their right, past a settee and fireplace. "In there," he told her, and she supported him as they walked into his small bedroom.

His bed was to their left and she sat him down on it, helping him out of his bloodied cape and letting it fall to the floor. Snape seemed naked without the extra folds of fabric, but was so tired and shocked that he didn't seem to notice.

"Water," he ordered, not looking at Hermione but instead swaying where he sat, his hands at his side.

" _Vasensortia_ ," she said, conjuring a glass and then filling it with water by whispering,  _"Aguamenti."_

She shook wildly, but managed to push it into his hands. He took a deep drink, gasping as though he hadn't drank water in days. He would have dropped it if Hermione hadn't held it by the base. He coughed and sputtered and she took it away, setting it on his nightstand.

"Professor," she whispered, unsure what to do, how to help him.

She heard him groan, "Robes..." He trailed off, and Hermione could see that there was blood all down his front. She bent closer, one knee on his bed, and, with great hesitation, began unbuttoning them, her hands still shaking. She helped him out of the first layer of black robes and then unbuttoned his white collared shirt, pulling it away from his chest, then his arms, and setting it aside. She conjured a linen cloth, wet it with water from her wand, and wiped away the blood that had dripped down his chest, neck, ears, and back. He was nearly unconscious of what she was doing, sitting slouched over, trying to stay seated upright, his eyes closed.

"Professor... Professor, you should lie down," she said, worried that he hadn't opened his eyes. The exertion of walking through the dungeons seemed to have drained all his energy. Hermione paused, not wanting to further overstep any boundaries, but placed her hands on his shoulders. His skin was cold and clammy. She pushed him down against the pillows, took off his shoes, and pulled the sheets and duvet over him.

The occasional booms and shaking from the ongoing battle had stopped, and Hermione wondered what was going on. She realized the hour must be close to over; where was Harry? He always knew what to do, in the end, but despite all the months that had come before this, they had rarely spoken of the final meeting, what the end would be like. She hadn't thought that she would be here, sitting at a deathly ill Severus Snape's bedside, as who knows what was going on above her head.

His face was so white, and she checked his pulse by pressing her fingers against his neck. He didn't push her away but allowed her to examine him, although she didn't know whether it was conscious or not. His pulse was so weak, it was a wonder his heart was still beating. Hermione realized, suddenly, that she was not too far away from the school's store of potions. Surely, there would be something there for her to use.

She dashed out of his bedroom and out into the hallway, making sure she knew where she was so that she would be able to make it back without losing her way. The Hermione and Snape who were only visiting the memory trailed behind, following her. Hermione opened the unlocked Potions classroom door and ran to the back. Neatly arranged and labeled were all manner of solutions, and Blood-Replenishing Potion, the one she was looking for, was easy enough to find. There were several containers of it among the dusty shelves. She didn't know how much she would need, so she took three for good measure. She also grabbed some Sleeping Draught as well as a Soothing Solution to stop the pain.

Hermione made her way back, followed again by the visitors to the memory, and deposited the vials onto Snape's bed by his side, uncorking the Blood-Replenishing Potions one by one and pouring them down his throat. When she finished, his head turned from side to side, as though shaking away a fly, before he opened his eyes and looked at her incredulously.

"Miss Granger, what do you think you are doing?" he asked, weakly, coughing, slurring his words and looking around. He was still noticeably confused, and pulled the duvet up to his chin. He saw the small glass bottles, some corked and others drained of their contents, and accused, "You've been stealing from my stores." In a way, he seemed delirious, but in another, it seemed like his personality was coming back. Hermione's eyes filled with tears, almost in disbelief. Her blind attempt to save him would work, and he would live!

"I wouldn't have done it unless... unless it was necessary." She wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her shirt, now freely crying. She had been in a constant state of anxiety the whole night and couldn't remember the last time she slept. It seemed like a lifetime had elapsed. But now, finally, something had gone right. Hermione turned her attention back to him and leaned over, picking up one of the potions and uncorking it. "Now, you need to take this, sir," she directed, placing a small vial of Sleeping Draught to his lips and watching the purple liquid disappear. He fell asleep instantly, his eyes sunken, but his face was relaxed and at peace.

And then, knowing she had done what she could and that her place was with Harry and Ron, she closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath, and left to rejoin the battle.

The walls of the bedroom faded away, the room reappearing again as time had passed. Madam Pomfrey now stood with Hermione at Snape's side.

"You did a fair job, dear, at taking care of him, considering the circumstances. If I were you, I would think about nursing as a profession."

Hermione smiled weakly. She enjoyed the compliment, but had no interest in a career of odd hours and constant anxiety. "When will we be moving him up to the Hospital Wing?" she asked.

"We won't be. The beds up in the wing are full as it is, and even though we've brought in Healers from St. Mungo's, we barely have enough staff to care for everyone," she explained. "We couldn't possibly bring in any more patients. He's going to have to be cared for here."

"But, who will..." Her eyes took in the pale figure of Severus Snape asleep, lying on his back in bed. She had wanted to wash her hands of him as soon as she could. It was trying work, to question every time she searched for his pulse whether it would be there or not, and whether she was giving him the right medication instead of a potion that might hurt him. It was impressive that she had been able to restore some of his health, considering that she had no background in nursing, but she didn't think she had the natural knack of knowing how to respond to a patient's needs to bring them back to full health. Even more displeasing was that her patient was Snape. He was a cruel, wicked man with a penchant for ridiculing the weak, and despite the initial wish to save him Hermione had no desire to take care of such a person.

"We really can't spare anyone on the wing, unfortunately, and he is responding so well to your care that it would be a pity to change now. I am certain that if you follow through with your current treatments, he'll recover soon enough. I'm sure you will do a fine job; I have full confidence in you."

Hermione paused as though weighing up her decision. "Madam Pomfrey, I... I need to speak to Professor McGonagall. Do you know where she is?" Before the nurse could answer the room changed, and the next scene laid before them was within the Headmaster's office, now occupied by McGonagall.

"Miss Granger, I have heard of the sacrifices you made to be able to help Mr. Potter last year," she began, staring at her through her rectangular glasses. "But readmitting you to the school would be a special circumstance. We've had several students skip their last year, but never did they return with the interest of continuing their education. However, you are an exceptionally talented witch, and your hand in the destruction of Voldemort is well known. I would be happy to grant you a certificate of completion of schooling at Hogwarts, based on the acts of courage you undertook that are far beyond what is teachable."

Hermione turned red and replied, "Thank you, Professor, but I would much rather come back to Hogwarts for my seventh year and take my N.E.W.T.s. I don't have the first idea as to what I want to do, and another year here would be best, for me, if that is possible."

"Very well then - if that is your choice," assented McGonagall.

"And, in that case," Hermione continued, "I have something else I need to ask about."

"Your living situation?" guessed McGonagall. Hermione nodded. The Headmistress asked, "Would the Weasleys be able to take you in, for the summer?"

Hermione looked down and then responded, "I'm not exactly sure. I wouldn't want to impose, especially because of... of Fred." She paused. "Also, if I'm to continue to take care of Professor Snape as Madam Promfrey has asked, it may be best - if it were possible - for me to simply stay here."

After a long silence, McGonagall agreed, "Yes, I'm sure we could accommodate you. It would be the least we could do for you, especially as you are taking care of our... incapacitated Potions master," she said, almost bitterly. "Although the dungeons are rather dreary, it would be best if you boarded down there, for the time being. I'll make sure Madam Pomfrey explains to you the appropriate potions to administer." She paused. "I appreciate what you are doing for Professor Snape, Hermione, but be wary. Even  _I_  don't know what business he had with Dumbledore," she said, her eyes flitting to his large portrait behind the desk, the subject asleep in his chair, "or, for that matter, with Voldemort."

Hermione's memory shifted and they were back in the dungeons again, the summer sunlight streaming in through the window overhead. Snape was asleep in his bed and Hermione sat at his side, applying a poultice on his throat to reduce the swelling. She took a cool linen cloth and dabbed it along his cheek, around his ear and above his forehead. Then, lowering the cloth, she allowed her fingers to delicately retrace her steps, following the length of his neck, his chin, his ear, his forehead, then nose, cheek, lips. The top of his collarbone. The hollow of his throat. He let out a small gasp in his sleep and she withdrew quickly, as though he would bite her hand if it was too near his mouth. She resettled it on her knee.

It was different, she thought, to see Snape like this. No tension in his face, not silhouetted menacingly against the shadows of the dungeon, not bristling with anger, ready to strike like a serpent. Simply, not scary anymore. He was completely relaxed, at peace, sleeping with the calmness of a child. He looked like a different person. And as she began to re-examine her belief in who he fundamentally was, as the caricature of the Severus Snape in her mind was erased, everything she thought she knew about him was called into question. Who was he, really? She wondered about the things she could not dab at with a linen cloth, touch with her fingers, or see with her eyes. She wondered about his innermost thoughts, his fears, his desires. What did they hold? She probably could not even begin to imagine the truth.

The Hermione which stood next to Snape blushed, embarrassed again of the liberties she had taken with him, and of her growing affection. She began retracing her thoughts. Sitting there, taking care of Snape was the first time she had realized how similar they were. They were both studious and intelligent, but also stubborn and driven, their interests far flung, their desire for knowledge paramount. Why had she been so blinded by her dislike of him to realize it? Harry had always been the most adamantly opposed to Snape, but then Snape had always been especially cruel to him. It was only natural. Her fingers hesitatingly glided over the furrows in his forehead, and then the steep slope of his nose, all the while her heart beating wildly, not wanting him to wake up but at the same time wishing that she could shake him, and make him realize it too.

The Entrance Hall flashed before them, and Hermione and Snape watched as Harry ran towards the Hermione which stood by the large wooden doors. He hugged her briefly, before pulling away.

"These past few weeks have been crazy, haven't they?" he asked, a smile splayed across his face.

She shrugged, although she wore a grin as well. "It hasn't hit me yet that it's all over, and besides, I haven't had much time to celebrate. Madam Pomfrey expected me to stay and take care of Snape, so I have."

Harry frowned, but then stood closer to her. "Hermione... Snape's memories... You were right, they were important. They explained everything. I don't know if I'll ever forgive him for what he's put me through, all these years, but... Snape was Dumbledore's man, even more than I was," he explained. "He did everything for him, without question. I think... I think it was his loyalty to Dumbledore that called Fawkes to him, in the Shrieking Shack, like Fawkes was called to me in the Chamber. I wish I could tell you everything, but..." his words caught in his throat. "I don't think he would like that very much. But you have to trust me; I don't know how I didn't see it before. He was helping us, me, all this time..."

Harry and Hermione dissolved into blackness, and were replaced by Snape lying in his bed, asleep.

Hermione entered the room and, finding that Snape was not awake, quietly sat on the chair beside his bed to wait. Hermione reflected that he usually woke at the same time every morning, as the effects of the previous evening's potions wore off. She pulled a book out of her bag to help pass the time, but it was not long before his head began moving to one side, pressing into the pillow.

However, this morning was different. He began to gasp, his hands reaching to his throat as he made a strange gurgling noise.

For one alarming moment, Hermione thought one of her potions had gone wrong, that he was suffocating. She realized that he was still asleep, that this was only a bad dream. "Professor," she said loudly, her arms going to his shoulders to try to rouse him. His hands found her arms and easily pressed her away. She could see tears in his eyes.

"No, no, no" he muttered, pitifully. His legs kicked under the duvet, his whole body tensed in fear, his hand still going to his neck as if to protect it.

"Professor!" Hermione shouted, shaking his shoulders with force.

He finally woke with a gasp. She let go and stepped back.

"I'm sorry, you just were..." She didn't finish.

His eyes blinked and he sat up, turning to look at her in astonishment. He did not say anything, but instead put his hand over his neck again, between the fabric of his white nightshirt and his skin. It was as though he couldn't believe it was healed, that what he had been seeing was only a dream.

In that moment, Hermione saw before her not the indomitable Potions master but a vulnerable, scarred man. A man who had risked everything to serve two masters, and for what? He had nothing to show for it except traumatic dreams and a few red gashes on his throat. It saddened her. What was his sense of purpose founded upon, now that the war had been won? Where would he go from here?

She moved away from him, allowing him to collect himself, and rummaged through her bags to retrieve the potions to administer. She tried to pretend as though nothing had happened as she lined them up on his bedside table. It melded seamlessly with the delicate dance they always did, he pretending not to find it shameful that Hermione Granger was standing at his bedside, in his private chambers, the only one that could be coerced into caring for him, seeing him like this - weak, not half the man he had been. She tried her best to not seem overbearing, instead almost thankful that he had allowed her to give him these potions - in reality, his lifeline.

Snape's heavy breathing had quieted, and he had propped himself up against a stack of pillows. He uncorked the bottles on the table one by one and took them quickly, grimacing especially after the last bottle was empty. Hermione took the bottles and placed them back into her bag. She noted that Snape looked slightly better but was still very pale, even by his own standards, and seemed exceedingly tired.

Snape looked up into one of the corners of his bedroom ceiling, and then gave her a sidling glance. "I don't suppose I have ever thanked you for-" he stopped, his eyebrows knit together in an expression of confusion, as though he couldn't believe the words had escaped his mouth. "For what you have done."

She was taken aback. "I only did what anyone would have done, in that situation." She sat down in the chair beside his bed and conjured a goblet of water for him to drink.

He took it from her, sipped it, and then placed it on his nightstand. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I would say the vast majority of those who know me would not have done what you have." He paused. "You are an uncommonly good witch, Miss Granger." He looked away, as though embarrassed to have admitted it. "Skilled, yes, but also  _good_ , a quality I will admit held very little meaning to me until recently."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you, sir," was all she could manage, a flurry of emotions rushing through her. After a moment of silence, she took a deep breath, as though for courage, and asked, "You remember, the other day, when we were discussing Ashwinder eggs and their potential for aiding in the withdrawal of the venom? Well, I'm not really sure how to go about incorporating it into the potions that I've been brewing, however I thought that perhaps you would be interested in assisting me with it, and so I've-"

He held his hand up and she went silent. "Calmly, Miss Granger," he said quietly, without the usual bite in his voice. Then, "I would need to familiarize myself more thoroughly with that particular... ingredient, although as I said before I agree this would work in theory."

She held up a small green volume which had been resting in her lap. "I've taken this book out of the library. For - for you to read, if you like" she explained, handing it to him.  _Ophidian Investigations, a Treatise on Serpentine Studies_.

She saw what almost appeared to be a flicker of... kindness? astonishment? in his eyes. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "In regards to that conversation, I have taken it upon myself to re-read this." He motioned towards the book that was sitting beside the goblet on his nightstand. It was titled  _The Postulate of Potion-Making_. "It would not hurt, perhaps, for you to borrow this and read up on the more theoretical aspects of potion creation, specifically those in regards to healing."

"I would like that very much, sir," she said, watching as he picked it up, then gingerly taking the book from him and placing it upon her lap. She looked at him with much concentration, as though she had not ever seen him before. She quietly asked, "Is there anything else you need from me, sir?"

"No, Miss Granger, that will be all." He nodded to her, and then watched as she placed his book in her school bag, then crossed the threshold. She could not believe it; Severus Snape, calling her  _good,_  treating her as though her ideas were as valid as his. As though she was an equal.

But as she left the room, Snape scowled to himself, blinking slowly, and shook his head slightly. He whispered to himself, "No," and sat in silence, staring at something quite far away, before leaning back upon the pillows and closing his eyes.

 _No? No, what?_  thought Hermione, as she looked on. She looked from the Snape in the memory to the one beside her, who had suddenly stiffened. He clearly had not expected for her to see that memory tonight. Hermione herself had not expected any of these memories to be transferred into the Pensieve, beyond the initial one, and wondered if she had not focused on it as much as she out to have done. She was worried as to what else they would see.

Snape disappeared from view and Hermione appeared in her dormitory. On her desk sat a large rectangular object covered in brown paper and tied in twine. She untied it, unwrapping the paper to reveal a set of books, all leather-bound with silver wording along the spine. It was an apothecary's encyclopedia, and included detailed information about every potion ingredient imaginable. She opened up one of the volumes and was enchanted by the beautiful illustrations. It would not have been inexpensive.

There was no note, but she knew who it was from.

Hermione's room faded away and Snape reappeared in view, standing in his living room. This time, the Potions master was well and standing behind his armchair. He was cloaked in his usual robes and appeared to be in excellent health, except for the noticeable red gashes which ran along his throat. Hermione stood in front of him, her arms folded and an angry expression on her face.

"You can see that I'm better, Miss Granger. I don't understand why you feel the need to check on me every day, unless," he smirked, looking down at her, "you have no one else to bother?" He paused, then continued, "It would be of much greater use to you to spend this time preparing for the upcoming year, considering how far behind you are after absconding from your studies."

He had struck such a blow to her that she paused for a moment, as though disbelieving what she heard. She became livid. "I thought you would at least be kind to someone who had not only saved your life, but who had also spent her whole summer with you to make sure you were well. And not only content with providing your care, but helping to improve it!" His smirk had disappeared. She started to dig through her schoolbag and pulled out the book he had lent her. "I suppose I should return this to you, as I won't be needing it anymore," she spat, tossing it onto the seat of his armchair. She turned to leave, stamped her foot, and then turned back, tears in her eyes. "You're so selfish... you don't care about anyone but yourself!" she exclaimed, wanting him to feel as hurt as she was. Her brashness overcame her and she surprised herself by saying, "No wonder... no wonder no one likes you!" How dare he ridicule her, after all the hours she had spent healing him!

He raised himself to his full height, face blank and hard as stone. She stormed out of the room, and the memory faded into blackness.

"Miss Granger, are we finished here?" asked Snape, his arm already underneath her elbow. She nodded and he pulled them out of the Pensieve, both recovering from the vertigo as they stood over the stone basin. Hermione shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her. The temperature of the dungeons had plummeted to around freezing.

He looked down at her and saw that she was rather tired and light-headed. "I told McGonagall that you would leave when you felt well, which you don't. Let us return."

He turned to leave, Hermione's voice cutting the silence. "But Professor, you promised you would show me some of your memories, in return for mine."

Snape looked at her again, his face cast in the blue light from the Pensieve, his expression inscrutable. "You've already seen quite a few of them, when you didn't have my permission. Have you already forgotten?" She was filled with indignation and anger. He had tricked her; why had she thought she could trust him? She looked down at the slate tile floor before hearing his voice again. "Tomorrow, we can continue."

In a few moments she was on his settee again, a pillow under her head and a thick blanket around her. Hermione stared at the fire, wondering what Snape's thoughts were about her memories. She wasn't even sure what  _she_  thought anymore, as the Calming Draught dulled her senses and she drifted off to sleep.


	4. More to His Story

Hermione woke up in the middle of the night, the room silent except for the crackling of the firewood in the grate. She turned onto her side to face the fire and pulled the blanket up to her neck, her eyes glistening with the reflection of the flames. She was wide awake and knew that she would not be able to quickly return to sleep. Her stomach was in knots as her thoughts returned to the memories she and Snape had viewed together the night prior, and everything that had happened since.

Snape's reputation was, if possible, worse among the students now than it had been before the battle. In the past few months, anyone with ties to Voldemort - anyone with a Dark Mark, especially - had been tried for their crimes and sent to Azkaban. All, except him. The details were not released publicly but Harry had petitioned for Snape's charges to be cleared, and despite public outcry, they were. Unsurprisingly, Snape was not forgiven by the students for his short reign as Headmaster or for the terrible things that had happened during that time. However, most were at least somewhat content to see him retire to his post of Potions master and Head of Slytherin House, where he could do no worse than give the occasional detention and assign horribly long papers.

Harry had not wanted to tell Hermione anything about Snape's memories, and it had made her curious about what they held. What could have redeemed Snape in Harry's eyes? What could Snape have possibly owed Dumbledore to have been his spy, all these years? It must have been something powerful. She could see that Snape would bend his will to no one else's unless forced.

And then, as she took care of him over the summer, Hermione realized that she had begun to have certain, slightly uncomfortable feelings towards Snape, that she had developed a kind of... fondness for him. She had told herself that this was only because she had saved him, and to save someone from death would create a bond that was not easily broken. However, her desire to watch his gestures, to listen to him speak, to discuss things with him like she was his equal, lasted far longer than the time it took for him to get well, beyond when classes had commenced. She could not help but feel that she was in the process of discovering him in a way that few - perhaps no one - had before. Bringing him back to health had required a certain physical proximity that had evolved into an intellectual closeness. And this - for Hermione - had become an emotional closeness, too.

She was deeply confused by her emotions. Logically, they made very little sense. How could she seek his approval when he had been so cruel to her when she was younger? How could she expect him to regard her as an equal considering the seemingly unbridgeable age gap? He was her  _professor._  She could not allow herself to feel this way.

But she had watched him sleep. She had wiped away his blood. She had felt his skin. She could not take these things back, and she could not forget them.

But she knew that it was perhaps not quite the same for him. She did not think he had ever been fully comfortable with her presence, not really. He had initially been so - embarrassed, by how close her face was to his when she lent over him to check the progress of his wound, her fingers applying a cooling paste to his maddeningly itchy, healing neck. He would turn his face as far from her as was possible, his jaws clenched, his eyes staring at the wall blankly as though she was not there. But she had looked forward to their conversations, the moments surrounding those where she brought more poultice and he drank his potions, once in the morning, once in the evening, and she began to think he did too. She did not give him any indication of what she felt, and he did not betray any desire for her to stay longer, but she could tell. Over the weeks she had begun to remain by his side for more and more time, never more than was appropriate but long enough for a healthy conversation, and he had never asked her to leave, never signaled the end of their exchange.

There were, of course, plenty of things to discuss in the aftermath of the war. He had asked about the hunt for the Horcruxes, how it had happened, how they had succeeded. Over time she shared their adventures, explained how they had entered the Ministry and stole the locket from under Umbridge's nose. Then how they broke into the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, Hermione herself posing as Bellatrix, freeing a dragon in the process and flying out upon its back. Snape's expression had been intense, unwavering, almost unbelieving, his brows furrowed, his black eyes piercing. So much of it must have seemed improbable, a combination of skill and luck that upon retelling made her question how on earth they had ever succeeded. She did not speak much of the night of the battle, only to say they had destroyed the goblet, found and dispatched the diadem. She mentioned that Neville had destroyed the snake, the idea of such a thing having really happened causing Snape to go white, his most inept student killing the monster that had so nearly killed him. She did not feel he wished to think about it.

She had asked him about his part only occasionally, for he seemed reticent, as though he thought the less she knew, the better. He spoke in vague terms of the Dark Lord's wishes, of his own subversive actions. It had been so interesting to her, the small pieces he revealed allowing her to see the whole picture, their complex shared history. The parts they played in this story had been so deeply, so unknowingly intertwined.

And in those weeks she spent caring for him, she had begun to see the man that Snape really was. She believed now that the sinister character he played was only that - a character - and not who he truly was. It made her desperately sad that he seemed unable to shake this persona, as though he had Transfigured himself into it so long ago that he was unable to break free.

Parts of him, piece by piece, began to show themselves, things she had not expected to see. He was witty. He had a kind of dry humor, a different perspective that was often times amusing to her. He also seemed quite thoughtful, conjuring a pillow so that she could sit comfortably in the chair beside his bed, offering water or tea when he had been well enough to get to his feet. He was obviously intelligent, and he knew quite a lot about many things, more than just potions or the Dark Arts. But he was not arrogant, did not pretend to be all-knowing, a fault she knew she herself had from time to time. He was inquisitive, interested in her ideas, and did not imply that he held all the answers. He had seemed very interested in _her_ , in how and what she thought. She had never been able to speak to anyone before about the books and the theories that made her mind buzz, not without some eye-rolling or subtle gibes at her passions, and here she was finding intellectual companionship with the Hogwarts Potions master.

She wondered if he, too, found some kind of solace in her company. He did not seem to write letters or leave his chambers, and it made her question whether he was truly alone, whether there was a single person who even cared that he had survived. She wondered whether she had in fact been the only person to speak to Severus Snape throughout that long summer, she the only one to pass over the threshold and into his private sanctuary. She thought it possible that she had been the only person to meet his gaze - to have touched his skin - in a very long time.

It was the subtle gleam in his eye when he looked at her. Yes, she could see it - the way his eyes lifted when she entered the room - and she could see how he would abruptly hide it, as though ashamed.

 _There was something in his eyes_ , she thought. A stoniness that belied a deep melancholy, and - not a weakness, but - a sensitivity, at all times, to how he was perceived by those around him. A holdover from his time spent as a spy, when his very life depended on convincing those around him whose side he was on. However, it seemed to go even deeper than that. Now reflecting upon what she had seen in the Pensieve, perhaps a holdover from his childhood, when he had grown up under the eye of a man who caused him only fear and shame by the mere fact of who - or rather, what - he was.

And sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she had the feeling as though his mind was prodding hers, softly, testing it, as though attempting to determine  _friend or foe_ , as though he could read her thoughts like they were pages in a novel, quickly looking away when he held her gaze for a moment too long-

She could feel it. She had thought she was imagining it for some time, but she could feel it now, the gentle probing, the feeling of someone's mind pressing up against her own. She froze. The warmth from the fire had vanished and she, moving ever so carefully, pulled her wand out of the pocket within her robes.

Hermione in one motion sat up, placed her feet on the floor, and pointed her wand where she knew he was standing, between her and the fire. When nothing happened, she shot a red spark out of the end of her wand, and watched as its path was deflected. Without a word, he twisted his wand to remove the Disillusionment Charm, his free hand open wide to show he held nothing in it. His wand, however, was pointed at her.

The look on his face was one of shock and horror. From Hermione finding him in such a compromising position? From what he had gleaned from her thoughts?

The silence was heavy, oppressive, an entity of its own. They both lowered their wands, but neither looked away.

She broke the silence first, as he knew she would. "Professor, why..." she trailed off.  _Why are you attempting to read my thoughts in the middle of the night? Why are you hiding it from me?_

"I heard you rouse. I did not wish to alarm you," he clipped, his wand still at his side, his knuckles white. "I wished to ensure the potions I administered were causing no ill effect."

His words struck her as unconvincing, and as her mind raced, part of her wondered if he had wanted her to discover him. He surely was too good of a spy for this. "I am not a first year; I know when someone is practicing Legilimency," she accused. "It's... it's hardly appropriate."

He finally broke from her gaze, blinking as though he had been staring into the sun, and then swiveled his head to look back at her. It was his turn to become accusatory.

"Why did you touch me, Miss Granger?" He stepped away from the fire, towards her, his wand raised slightly, before side-stepping away from her, keeping his back to the wall.

She was taken aback. "I don't know wha-"

"In your memory," he explained, darkly. Hermione found herself avoiding his gaze, her mind racing. " _I_  find  _that_  to be  _hardly appropriate_ , to act as though you had special dispensation to do what you wished when I was unconscious, completely at your mercy. Why did you  _touch_  me?" he questioned. He leaned forward again, his hand gripping the arm of the settee as he stood, his penetrating stare finding her although she would not return it.

"I... I don't know, sir," she responded, her voice hardly above a whisper. It was both true and a lie. An answer that wasn't really an answer.

"You... don't know?" he repeated, the slightest tone of mockery in his voice. A question that wasn't really a question.

Then she looked up at him, and he had that look. That look of unimaginable pain and sadness the he would allow, briefly, to overcome his face. He swallowed, his chest heaved. And then it was gone.

He looked away again, releasing his grip from the arm of the settee. "Goodnight, Miss Granger," he growled, slipping into the shadows as he opened the door which led to the dungeons and exiting through it.

Hermione's heart raced as she stared after him. What had just happened? She laid down, staring at the ceiling for quite a long time before she was able to fall asleep, unsure whether he would return, unsure what she was feeling, unsure why exactly she had touched him all those months ago.

.

.

.

The sound of clattering in the kitchen woke Hermione from a deep sleep early in the morning. She turned over and sat straight up, her eyes heavy from exhaustion. They focused on Snape, who did not seem to acknowledge her presence.

She folded her blanket and left to take a shower. His lavatory was small but neat and the water in the shower was hot and soothing. She put on a set of freshly laundered school robes, straightening her shirt and tie so that she looked respectable before sitting down in front of the fire to dry her hair.

Snape had made a pot of tea which he drank from at the table, while reading a rather large book. A plate of pastries, teacup, and saucer sat at the opposite end of the table to him, and Hermione, assuming they were for her, took her place there.

He set down his book and eyed her as though seeing her anew, as though he did not know what to make of her. "Tea?" he offered. She nodded, her eyes downcast. The teapot floated towards her, and she noticed that the tea changed color as it poured into the cup. Noting her interest, he explained, "It's a kettle which will make the sort of tea most agreeable to the intended drinker."

She sipped and nodded, for it was true that she had wanted a strong tea to wake her up, and that was exactly what had come out of the teapot. It was very unlike him to attempt any small talk at the best of times, however it seemed particularly strange after the events of last night. Clearly, he was just going to pretend as if nothing had happened, and she would have to follow suit. "It must have been expensive," she murmured, nibbling at a croissant.

"Yes, normally, however I have inherited this one."

She looked up at him. "But, it would have had to come from your mother's side of your family."

She expected him to be angry with her for bringing it up, but he wasn't. "And? My mother was not disinherited when she married my father. They gave her a few family tokens." There was another pause.

"Professor, if I may ask - how did you receive your mother's memories? From when she was young, from before you were born."

He sipped his tea before answering, simply, "She gave them to me."

Hermione bit her lip before saying, impudently, "Why won't you tell me where she is now? Is she..." She almost couldn't say it. "Is she still in Azkaban?"

He stared at her, and she detected a bit of anger in his tone. "Miss Granger, there are several reasons why I do not say. Most importantly, to understand the present requires more knowledge of the past. Some things must be delved into rather than skimmed through on the surface." He stopped, and then said a little more forcefully, "Because, Miss Granger, some things require you to have a little more knowledge, a little more  _patience_ , to be able to understand their full meaning." Lowering his voice, he continued, "If you wish, I believe we have time for a few more memories before classes commence."

She nodded, wondering why he would reprimand her and then go on to give her exactly what she wanted. She was altogether unsure what her standing was with him.

Hermione waited until he finished his tea before standing up, gathering her things, and walking with him through the cold corridors to his office. He closed the door behind them, locking it as she placed her things on a work table. She turned towards him and watched him extract his own memories, his face almost pained as he did so, before he tapped them into the Pensieve. They stood together as before, pressed their faces against the surface, and dove into the memory.

A young Severus Snape sat in a clearing, dressed in his school robes. He was leaning against a tree, bent over a book which he was reading intently, his quill now scrawling a note in the margin of the page. It looked to be a sunny spring day, the wind blowing softly, daffodils growing in clusters below the trees.

Hermione heard footsteps approaching, last autumn's leaves crunching underfoot. Snape looked up, scrambling for his wand, pointing it towards the sound.

"Hey Sev!" came a voice, a red-haired teenager appearing from in between several bushes. Her schoolbag was casually slung over her shoulder, and her green eyes glimmered when she saw him. "How did I know you'd be here?"

"Oh, Lily - hey," Snape said, his eyes darting around, as though he expected someone else to appear, before settling back upon her.

 _Lily... Lily Potter?_ Hermione wondered to herself, immediately knowing without being told that it was indeed her. It was true - Harry really did have her eyes.

Lily then noticed Snape's wand pointed at her. "Well, what's that out for?"

"Sorry," Snape responded quickly, embarrassed, lowering it. She had moved to sit near him on a patch of moss. "I thought... I thought it might have been someone else."

"James?" she asked, her hands grasping the strap of her schoolbag and moving it over her head. When he didn't respond she rolled her eyes, tucking her disheveled hair behind her ears. "What a git. Has he been at you again?"

He seemed embarrassed again. "Don't worry about it, it's really nothing." Before she could protest, he asked, "Why were you looking for me?"

"I just wanted to ask you about that assignment Slughorn gave us - it's rather difficult, don't you think?"

He face fell slightly, as if he had been hoping for another reason. "Well, it's fairly straightforward, if you realize that wormwood is basically the same as quinine in Potion-making, and has very similar properties."

"Oh. Is that all?" she asked, annoyed that she had missed such an easy connection.

"Yes - that's all," he confirmed, closing his book and placing it in his own schoolbag.

"Well, now I just feel silly," she said, giggling.

"'Silly Lily,' like your mum says," Snape replied, his lips turning up at the edges. "But really, it's not so obvious as all that. Hey," he said, sitting up straighter, "I was wondering if - now that you're here - we could practice that spell again?"

"Again?" She looked displeased, her mouth twisting to the side. "But we've already done it loads of times."

"Yeah, but not  _properly,_  not the way it says in the book, and we were nearly there last time!" Seeing that she didn't look so convinced, he plied her with, "It would look really good for our O.W.L.s, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," she assented. "But it's a lot of effort, for something we might never use in real life."

His mouth now twisted to the side, perhaps an unconscious mimicking of her. "I mean, defending yourself against the Dark Arts is useful, isn't it? Who's to say that you won't ever need to use it?"

She crossed her arms. "What's with you and the Dark Arts, Sev? Is this Avery and Mulciber getting into your head, again?"

"No!" he exclaimed, indignantly. "It's just, you know - it's so fascinating, isn't it?" When she didn't reply, he continued. "It's...  _true_  magic. It's wizards and witches pushing themselves to the edge, experimenting. And it's all so unknown - it's changing all the time. And besides," he said, "I kind of, you know... I find that my other classes are kind of boring. I feel like I kind of know it all, already."

She pursed her lips. "With talk like that, I'd say the size of your head will be rivaling James's soon."

He looked distraught, then angry. "I'm  _nothing_  like James!"

She instantly seemed sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Sev. I know you're not."

"The Dark Arts is just something new, something interesting," he said, with a note of finality, as though he didn't want to discuss it anymore.

"I know that  _you_  might see it that way, but I think Mulciber is less interested in understanding the nature of the Dark Arts and is more interested in how he can use it to be cruel to first years."

"Well,  _I'm_  not Mulciber," he retorted.

"But you're basically condoning what he does. You act like he's your best friend!"

" _You're_  my best friend!" he exclaimed, and then reddened slightly, as though he regretted saying it.

She, too, reddened at this, but didn't say anything for a moment. Then, she murmured, " _I_  just don't see Dark witches and wizards everywhere I look." He glanced away, as though her last words had hurt especially. Her green eyes dropped to the ground, and then rose back to him. "Oh... I guess if it will look good for our exams..." His black eyes met hers. "Let's give it another go then, shall we?"

He nodded cautiously, and they both got to their feet.

"Do you remember the words?" he asked, shaking off the leaves stuck to his robes.

She looked at him with a peeved expression on her face. "Of course I do - we've only practiced it about a thousand bloody times!" He grinned, the tension between them broken.

"All right then - you first."

She turned away from him, facing the clearing, and closed her eyes. She planted her feet firmly, took a deep breath, and began to let it out slowly in a quiet hiss. After a moment she raised her wand, twirled it, and exclaimed, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A white mist issued from her wand, hanging over them. It condensed into a form, an animal with four legs, although it was not very clear what it was meant to be, and quickly disappeared. Her mouth hung open. "Did you see that, Sev?" she asked, amazed.

"Give it another go!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as well. "You're almost there, I think!"

She immediately went to hold her stance again, closed her eyes, concentrated, and uttered the words. This time, an animal erupted fully formed from her wand, leaping forth, its legs long and slight, before it stopped and turned its wide mournful eyes to both of them. It was a doe.

"See, I knew you could do it!" he exclaimed, a big grin across his face.

"Woohoo!" she shouted, raising her hands in the air in delight, pleased and in awe with her magic. She could not believe she had managed it. "You try, you try now!" she ordered, joyfully, excitedly, putting one hand on Snape's arm and another on his back. Her eyes never left the graceful doe as it bounded around the clearing.

Color had risen to his cheek and he too closed his eyes, concentrating, before he spoke the words, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A mist burst forth from his wand and it transformed, settling itself slowly into the figure of an animal. An animal which, he realized, was identical to Lily's. It too was a doe.

"Well done, Sev!" Lily exclaimed, enthralled. He looked stunned, almost abashed, watching his Patronus bound alongside Lily's. "That's a bit funny, isn't it?" she said, a smile still across her face. She removed her hands from him, standing at his side and looking up. "What are the chances that it's the same for both of us?

"I don't know," he said quietly, watching as their Patronuses both vanished suddenly, like a light going out.

The memory, also, faded away.

They now stood at the foot of the castle, and Hermione watched a memory play out before her that Harry himself had recounted to her, the memory he had seen in Snape's Pensieve during the last of his failed Occlumency lessons. She watched as who she could only assume to be James Potter hit Snape repeated with hex after hex, watching him fall over, helplessly scrambling for his wand. She watched as Lily strode up to them, angry, demanding that they let him go. But then she watched as Snape called Lily a Mudblood, watched her face grow livid and then taut before she left him to James who, free to bully once more, suspended Snape in mid-air using the  _Levicorpus_ spell.

A pack of Slytherins descended from the castle, their eyes trained on Snape and James.

James spied them, quickly removing the spell he had placed upon Snape, who immediately fell to a heap on the ground below. Snape gasped, the wind having been knocked out of him, and he found his wand with his right hand. He had nearly landed on it.

James stood, his wand pointed outwards, before turning slightly away, his face trying to hide the fear he most surely felt. He looked so much like Harry, Hermione thought.

Sirius, who was standing behind him, also stiffened. Remus closed the book he had been reading.

"Not so fast, Potter!" shouted a hulking figure at the front of the group of five. James raised his wand, but was not prepared. " _Everte Statum!_ " shouted the Slytherin, the spell hitting James and knocking him backwards to the ground.

Sirius now raised his wand. "Mulciber, you stay out of this!" He was immediately disarmed by a member of the group of Slytherins, who were nearly upon them.

" _Furnunculus!_ " a blond Slytherin shouted, and his spell hit James straight in the face as he was trying to sit up. Red boils appeared on his skin.

"Nice one, Avery," Mulciber complimented.

From his sitting position, with one hand over his face, James immediately retaliated with, " _Petrificus Totalus,_ " taking out one of the Slytherins.

Remus was now standing, his wand out too. "Stop, or I'll take away House Points!" Peter looked upon the group before him with terror.

"One rule for us, another for your Gryffindor pals?" taunted Mulciber, at once hitting Sirius with a body-bind spell. Sirius hit the ground with a thud. "You'll need to take away points from Potter and Black here first, Lupin. I feel it's only fair." Remus looked to be at a loss.

" _Impedimenta!_ " exclaimed Avery. The spell hit James, who was now frozen.

Mulciber approached the Gryffindor, slowly, as though thinking through what it was he would enjoy most doing to his victim. Finally, he placed the tip of his wand flat to James's stomach and issued a Stinging Hex, one so strong that the Impedimenta spell broke and he fell onto his back, wheezing. The Slytherin took the opportunity to kick James, quite forcibly, in the groin, and he could only roll over, groaning. Finally, a Langlock jinx was cast upon James, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he sounded almost as if he was choking.

Mulciber leered above him. "Hopefully you'll think twice about messing with Snape again, Potter."

A slim, brown-haired Slytherin extended a hand towards Snape, who accepted it and was pulled to his feet. Snape stood now, having watched it all. He didn't say a word.

The group of teenagers walked up into the castle, and Hermione and Snape followed behind them as they descended into the dungeons, then into the Slytherin boys' dormitory.

Hermione watched as they congratulated themselves on their victory, taking their cloaks off from around their necks.

"Did you see Black's face when I got him?" Mulciber asked Avery, gleefully. "It was almost too easy." He then looked over at Snape, whose thin face appeared blank as he sat on his bed. The dark green curtains above him hung down from the black ceiling, partially obscuring him. "Snape," Mulciber called, waiting for him to turn around. He did, his black eyes searching the other boy's warily. "Look - I know that it's hard to fight back when it's two to one, but you should be more prepared. I know you like reading your books and all, but it doesn't really matter how much you know if you're not able to  _actually_ protect yourself."

"I  _am_ able to protect myself," Severus spat back. Hermione sensed that his self-pride had been deeply bruised.

"No - you're not," Mulciber retorted.

"We just saved you... remember?" asked Avery, rhetorically.

"And we're not always going to be around," Mulciber continued. "You  _know_ a lot of stuff, but that's not really important if you can't actually  _use_ it." He stood up now, moving to the bed in front of Severus, sitting on it and facing him. "You need to get ahead of the game. You need to be able to strike first, get Potter and Black and the rest before they get you." Avery had also followed Mulciber, and stood at his side. "Maybe... make them a little afraid of you."

"Afraid of me?" Snape spat again, clearly irritated. Avery and Mulciber exchanged glances.

"Yes." There was a pause. "Remember Lucius Malfoy?" Avery began, quietly. "He was in his last year when we were first years - he was Head Boy. I saw him over the Christmas holidays. He told me himself, he knows someone... there's this man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. Or, the Dark Lord. He has a following, a group of people called Death Eaters, and they practice the Dark Arts."

Snape was, by this time, paying close attention to Avery. "What do they do?" he asked.

"Whatever the Dark Lord asks," explained Avery, pleased that he had piqued his interest. "What he wants to do is finish Slytherin's work. He's a powerful wizard, and thinks only pure-bloods should be allowed to perform magic."

" _I'm_  not even a pure-blood." Snape looked dejected.

"Some say he isn't either," replied Avery, glancing around furtively. "But as long as you're interested... Snape, face it. Your favorite subject is the Dark Arts, and Lucius says we would learn everything we need to from this man. Things that would make James Potter's hair stand on end," he said pointedly. "Voldemort's supposed to be brilliant, and I think he's exactly the one to support now. He's starting a revolution in magic, and we want to be on the winning side," he said, smiling wolfishly. "Don't we?"

Both young men faded from view and in their place Hermione was shocked to see Snape at Dumbledore's feet, on a dark grassy hilltop. The wind was blowing so hard she struggled to hear what they were saying.

"He thinks the prophecy means Lily Evans! He is going to hunt her down - kill them all-" It took Hermione a moment to realize he spoke of the prophecy that doomed the Potters, and she felt sick.

"If she means so much to you," Dumbledore said, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her?" He paused. "Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have asked him-"

Dumbledore's face was dark, hardened. "You disgust me." Snape looked away. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape looked broken. "Hide them all, then. Keep her - them - safe. Please," he begged.

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" The Headmaster loomed over him, furious yet controlled.

"In return?" Snape's expression was desperate. "Anything."

They faded, and a circle of cloaked men in the clearing of a wood now appeared. The nighttime mists swirled around their feet. In the center stood a thin man with features that were sharp but elegant, a hooded cloak casting the rest of his body into obscurity.

"We have an initiation ceremony tonight," he breathed, his voice soft and cold. "It is not often that we have the chance to add another member to our number, so this is truly a cause for celebration. Severus," he said, beckoning forth one of the cloaked men with the slightest curl of his fingers. One of the figures stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal a length of smooth black hair and kneeling down at Lord Voldemort's feet.

"My Lord," he acknowledged, his unwavering voice a pitch higher than normal.

It seemed as though Voldemort could sense his fear, for he asked, "Any apprehensions, Severus?"

Snape shook his head. "No, my Lord."

"You are well aware that you are pledging your life to your duty. You shall answer to no other master but me."

"It is how it should be, my Lord," he responded, his head still bent towards the ground in respect.

"And so it shall be, Severus. Your arm," he ordered. Snape pulled up the sleeve of his left forearm, exposing the white skin which lay underneath. Voldemort's thin hand gripped Snape's left wrist as he placed the tip of his wand to the skin. Suddenly, a trail of blackness issued from the wand, burrowing into the skin, and Snape cried out in agony. Hermione gasped and stepped backwards, her shoulder hitting Snape's. She looked away, unable to watch him being tortured. After the longest time imaginable had passed, the cries stopped and she turned back towards the group of men. He was doubled over on the ground, clutching his arm and cradling it, and as he fell unconscious the scene changed again.

Snape was now sitting at a wooden kitchen table in a cramped apartment, a light bulb hanging from the ceiling above. Next to him was his mother, looking weathered and unhappy, dressed in a long faded blue gown.

"She's not in Azkaban?" asked Hermione, breathlessly. Snape did not respond, but instead circled the table for a better view. She followed him, intently watching the two people at the table. The younger Snape held a reddened washrag to his forearm, too ashamed to look at his mother. He removed it to inspect the wound again and Hermione had to avert her gaze. It looked as though someone had cut a pattern into his arm with a knife, the edges discolored and black.

Eileen shook her head, tears in her eyes. "Severus... why?" Her voice cracked and tears welled up in her already red eyes. "How c-could you?" She looked as though she had been crying for some time.

Snape looked even more pitiful than she did. "I... I had to. I didn't have a choice." He put his right elbow on the table and his head in his right palm, looking as though he too would burst into tears.

"Severus, there's  _always_  a choice, whether you see it or not," she cried desperately. She got up, placed her chair next to him, and then pulled him close. Even though he was a grown man, he laid his head against his mother's shoulder in compliance.

The room faded away, and Snape was now standing in Dumbledore's office. He and Dumbledore were arguing, and Hermione noticed the Headmaster's black limp hand lying on his desk.

Hermione watched as Snape pulled out his wand and a white doe burst out of the end. She, suddenly, remembered that Tonks's Patronus had taken the form of a werewolf when she had fallen in love with Remus. It had been nearly twenty years, and yet...

She realized abruptly what it meant. He had always loved her... he had always loved Lily. Everything he had done for Harry, he had done because of his love for Lily. As the word "Always" slipped from his lips, Hermione's eyes stung. To love someone for that long, and that strongly, was remarkable. It was a bond that could never be broken.

She turned towards Snape and looked into his eyes; they were deep and emotionless as always. She, however, found herself unable to cope with the feelings bubbling up within her. Feelings of sadness, helplessness, and... jealousy? Why had he been so keen to show this memory, this memory that proved the depths of emotion he was capable of, of holding onto for years?

Hermione recognized that, somehow, it was his way of drawing the line in the sand. Of telling her, without having to use words, that whatever she was feeling, whatever she was hoping, whatever he had read in her eyes last night, simply could not happen. The truth was, he would never love anyone but Lily. Hermione felt ashamed that she had allowed herself, however fleetingly or unknowingly, to believe that it could have been any different.

She stepped away from him.

"Miss Granger-"

"I want to leave now. Please." She turned away, embarrassed. She couldn't bear to look at him.

"There is only-"

"Please!"

He put a hand under her elbow and looked down at her, his face pained, distressed. She heard Dumbledore muse about how they perhaps "Sort too early" as he stood up behind her. Snape looked away. "As you wish."

They landed back in his office and Hermione pulled away from the hand on her elbow. She stepped further away, refusing to look at him as her eyes grew hot.

"Miss Granger, I fail to understand why-"

"Then I fail to understand why I'm here," she said coldly, her voice shaking. She laid her hand on the work table and glared up at Snape.

He stared back, drew himself up and said, "We are through."

Hermione stepped backwards and then turned, grabbing her things. She walked quickly out of his office and through the passageways, up through the Entrance Hall and then to her own chambers.

Snape stood, motionless, before taking the Pensieve and placed it into the cabinet, locking it away. He then walked over to his desk, sat on the thin wooden chair and propped his elbow on the table, his head in the palm of his right hand.


	5. Path to Forgiveness

Hermione didn't see Snape again until Potions class the next day. She avoided his glance throughout his lecture and the practical, looking up only when he warned her that she had not chopped her sneezewort the correct way. Hermione slid it into the cauldron anyway, to spite him, and Snape took ten points from Gryffindor for not following directions. He then turned his back to her and went to take out more of his anger on Ginny, even though her potion seemed more than adequate. Hermione was angry with him, angry with herself, and mostly sad that he had shown her that memory.  _Always, always, always_ , repeated a voice in her head.

Snape had sent her a letter through her fireplace, asking for her presence in his office the next morning. She refused it. He did not write again. He stopped even looking at her during her classes - it was as if she had turned invisible. Deal or no deal, she couldn't allow him to torture her anymore with his past. And that's what it was, wasn't it? It was torture.

 _Watching his sad, miserable, lonely life play out is not going to change anything,_  she thought to herself, scribbling out some lines in an essay for Charms.  _What does he expect from me?_  She laid down her quill and looked out the window upon what should have been a beautiful view of the Hogwarts grounds. Instead, they were completely obscured by the rain battering the panes.  _I thought... I thought..._  Her eyes blurred with tears, and she shook her head.  _It doesn't matter what I thought_.

How could she let herself get close to him? Allow herself to think that there could be anything - at all - between them?

Hermione tried to think rationally. She had saved him the night of the battle because it had been the right thing to do. She had nursed him back to health, as she had had nowhere else to go and, really, little better to do. She had simply fallen into it. They had had some interesting - friendly, even - conversations. Then he had mocked her. Pushed her away, uncomfortable with - what - their friendship? She then intruded on his memories, uninvited. She in turn had shown him what he wanted to see, to clear up what exactly had gone on between them, and that was that.

But then she would lie in bed at night, thinking of him as a child. Seeing the face of his mother. Hearing his screams as Voldemort marked him.

Severus Snape was a proud, secretive man. Why would he offer her this glimpse into the pain that was his childhood? The pain of choosing Voldemort, forging the wrong path? The pain of losing Lily? This was... intimate information. This was not something he would voluntarily share with just anyone. Was it that he thought Hermione would understand? That she cared? In one moment, he pushed her away. The next, he was drawing her nearer. Was he teasing her? Was he testing her? She could not fathom him.

She closed her eyes, and she could see his black eyes staring back at her with that incredible, searing intensity.

She remembered the way his lips felt under her touch. She wondered, fleetingly, what they would feel like pressed to her own.

Why did she think these things?

Why had she touched him?

She knew why. But she did not know what to do.

.

.

.

Ginny could tell from how subdued Hermione was that something was not quite right. They were in Hermione's room as usual, practicing their Vanishing Spells on the bedside table, when Ginny voiced her concern. She held her wand in one hand, twiddling the tip in the fingers of the other.

"Hermione... how have you been lately? You've seemed a bit..."

"A bit... what?" asked Hermione, lowering her wand. She had only managed to vanish one of the table's legs.

"I don't know," Ginny responded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and managing to look particularly like Molly. "It's just... Well, I mean, we haven't spoken much about everything, after the battle. You've seemed... like you were struggling a bit. But then Harry and Ron were, too. Everyone was... I'd expected it to be over because... you know... we'd won." Her tone changed. "But it wasn't like we'd won at all. Voldemort was destroyed, but so was nearly everything else." She looked away, and Hermione could feel the pinpricks of tears starting to form. It was difficult to talk about. When Ginny looked back towards her, her eyes were glassy. "We all went through shock, and none of us ever saw you because you were here taking care of Snape. We came back to school, and you were so distant." She crossed her arms, struggling to get her words out. "I thought it was because you missed Harry and Ron, or maybe you were angry at me for kind of deserting you-"

"No, Gin, I know you've had enough to deal with..." Her throat was tightening. It was true, she had felt very alone. It had been difficult without the constant companionship she had known with Ron and Harry the year before. She had, though, welcomed the solitude somewhat after spending so little time alone while hunting Horcruxes. But she could not compare her isolation to the unimaginable pain Ginny must have felt at losing Fred. "I... I had Professor Snape, to talk to, to keep my mind off things," she offered, truthfully.

This almost caused Ginny to laugh. The look on her face, however, turned dark as she spat out, "Yes, I'm sure he was a great consolation. Personally, I would rather spend quality time with a Dementor." She paused, and then added, "I can't believe they've allowed him back here to teach."

Hermione frowned. "But Harry-"

"I know what Harry says." Hermione could tell this was a point of contention between the two. "But sometimes, I think he thinks that just because Voldemort is gone, we can let our defenses down." Ginny stood up and began pacing the room, staring at the floor. "I'm not interested in debating whether Snape is a good or bad man. I've done that enough with Harry." She sighed. "What I know is that he didn't help us when we needed it. He allowed us to be  _tortured_  last year, when he was Headmaster.  _Tortured_ , Hermione," she fumed, looking up and then away again. "If he was Dumbledore's man, why would he allow that? Why wouldn't he protect us?" Hermione realized that Ginny had suffered some true horrors - her father's attack, her brother's death, torture at the hands of teachers, possession by a Horcrux. It was no wonder she was exceedingly wary of anyone who had had ties to Voldemort. "Sure, Harry has vouched for him. Yes, I believe Harry, to a point. But how could they let him back into this school? How can Harry possibly be  _sure_  that he wasn't on Voldemort's side, this whole time? That Snape hasn't just spun another lie?" She paused. "If Snape was clever enough to fool Voldemort, then I think he would be clever enough to fool Dumbledore. And, well, Harry too, I suppose."

Hermione looked up at her, unsure what to say. She didn't know if it was for her to tell or if Harry would be angry at her for doing so. Ginny sensed her indecision.

"What do you know, Hermione?" Ginny queried, solemnly, sitting down on Hermione's bed.

Hermione's mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. "I've seen some of his memories," she explained.

"Snape's memories?" Ginny asked, looking almost disgusted at the thought. "But how-" Realization dawned on her face. "That night when Snape asked me to get some of your things together. Was it then?" Her face displayed a look of revulsion.

"Well, it was before that - that day - I had gone into his office and really, without meaning to, I kind of entered his Pensieve-"

"Why haven't you told me any of this?" interrupted Ginny, feeling betrayed.

Hermione was beginning to regret letting Ginny know anything. "Well," she paused, avoiding Ginny's eyes and finding no easy explanation. "It's... it's complicated."

Ginny stared at her.  _"Complicated?_  You're finding it  _complicated_  to tell  _me_  about what's swimming in Snape's Pensieve?"

"It's not as simple as all that," she said, her voice low, standing up and leaning against her desk. "I'm not sure what he would be comfortable other people knowing, and I would rather not... breach his trust." She realized as soon as she said it that this was not the right excuse to make.

Ginny looked stunned and stood up. "Who are you, Hermione Granger?" She looked almost disgusted. "Who are you to decide what I get to know about that - that inhuman... monster!" she exclaimed, balling her fists. "I didn't want to say this, but I was worried about you, over this summer. I was worried that he would do something to get into your mind - to manipulate you." She turned away and then back towards her friend. "Why are you protecting him, Hermione?"

She blushed at what Ginny's tone was insinuating. She stammered, "I'm n-not, honestly, I just-"

Ginny's eyes opened wide in alarm, and she began to back away. "Is there something going on that I need to know about?"

Hermione scowled, her cheeks still red. "It's not like that-"

"What  _is_  it like Hermione? Because it seems to me like my best friend is acting like a... a Snape apologist! And worse!"

"That's hardly fair! Harry-"

"I don't agree with Harry either, but at least Harry hasn't been alone with Snape-"

"Stop it!" exclaimed Hermione, very uncomfortable with what Ginny was suggesting. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny, glowering, gathered up her books. "Well that makes two of us, then," she snapped, turning to leave. While standing on the threshold, she looked at Hermione and said, "When you're ready to tell me what he showed you, I'll be there." She left without another word.

Hermione angrily flopped onto her bed. She was at an impasse.

After this conversation with Ginny, Hermione simply couldn't confide in her about anything to do with Snape. She accepted Ginny's feelings as completely valid, but she hadn't realized how deep the bad blood was between him and the students. She couldn't share Snape's most intimate memories with someone who hated him - with good reason - but who could not be an impartial observer.

Hermione turned over and stared at the wall. Her mind raced as she weighed up her options. If Snape had so desperately wanted her to see his memories - then perhaps giving him the opportunity was the right thing to do. Even though this was in complete opposition to what Ginny would have wanted.

She knew what she would have to do tomorrow. It was Saturday, and Snape did not have any classes. She would find him, and then... she didn't know what she would say or do, but she would have to confront him. It was the only way forward she could see.

.

.

.

Hermione looked at herself in the reflection of her full-length mirror. She shouldered her bag, and took a few deep breaths to calm down. She wasn't quite ready to go down to Snape's office, but if she didn't do it now when she was full of such compulsion, she never would.

She had a plan for when they met. She would tell him that she needed a recommendation for an internship at the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They had a program for students who came out of Hogwarts, which theoretically could interest her. At least her story was believable, and a good excuse to speak to him was all she needed.

As Hermione descended into the dungeons, part of her expected him not to be there. But as she knocked on the door, a deep voice beckoned, "Enter." She did so and closed the door behind her, the silence deafening and a sudden chill seeping into her. His back was turned as he stood hunched over his desk, penning a note in one of his thick books.

"Professor?" she asked, watching his hand stop as though he had been stunned, before finishing and placing the quill in the inkwell.

He straightened up and turned around slowly, asking bitterly, "What is it that you want, Miss Granger?" His eyes were hard and cold on hers.

Without skipping a beat, Hermione explained, "I plan on entering one of the Ministry's training programs next year. I was hoping you would be able to write a recommendation for me." She dug through the school bag which hung over her shoulder for the paper, found it, and held it out to him.

He kept his hands at his sides and looked down at her. "You ignore my letter, refuse to acknowledge me for a month, and then come into my office asking for a recommendation? You should be lucky I don't  _fail_  you," he seethed.

All the anger that she had bottled up now flooded out. "I should be  _lucky?_  If you can't separate our personal problems from my schooling, and you feel it's so important that you fail me, why don't you just do it?" She stepped closer to him, shoving the papers back into her bag.

He edged away and walked behind his desk to separate himself from her. She almost cowered from the withering look he gave her. "Your performance in my class is far from satisfactory; you cannot deny that. As for why I hesitate to fail you, Miss Granger, you can attribute that to the fact that it would look rather poor to future employers if you were to graduate from Hogwarts at the age of nearly twenty-one. You are already so far behind because of your year-long excursion from schooling that I daresay I could spare you the humiliation of returning for another year, and spare myself the displeasure. As for our 'personal problems,' as you so delicately labeled them, you seem to be the one more deeply affected." He paused. "I hope you aren't forgetting that it was  _your_  intemperate curiosity which began all of this."

She bit the inside of her cheek - she couldn't bear this anger. Her next words did not come easily. "Yes, it was, and - I apologize, Professor." The severity momentarily left his face, as though an apology was the last thing he had expected. The only thing she could think to say now was the truth. "I just... I wasn't comfortable with continuing, as it were... considering how it ended last time."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "It was... necessary for you to understand my actions concerning Mr. Potter."

"Yes; I understand that now." She stepped towards him.

His words were now strained. "If you had had the patience to see the last few memories, as I had asked of you..." When she did not respond, his eyes searching hers, he said, "I have moved the Pensieve into my chambers. If you wish, we can view it now. But this is my final offer."

Hermione stared at him, and nodded once.

Snape lead the way to his chambers and Hermione followed behind at a distance. Upon entering, she noticed a potion bubbling away on the table. She refocused on Snape, who now stood over the Pensieve he had retrieved from within a cabinet, the blue light glinting off the black of his hair.

"Let us not forget that you owe me several memories, Miss Granger," he instructed, not to annoy her but to make the proceedings clear. "As before." He placed the tip of his wand to her temple, and she felt vulnerable once again. Hermione pushed the fear aside and weighed her options. She nodded, and Snape teased out her memories, casting them into the Pensieve. His expression became pained as he then removed his own, quickly placing his two silver strands alongside hers. After mixing the contents with the tip of his wand, he looked down upon her with what seemed like trepidation, his gaze soon shifting back toward the silvery basin. He nodded.

They bent over, and with a sudden jolt Hermione found herself standing in her own living room at home. She watched herself pointing her wand at her parents as her father clutched her mother to him.

"Hermione... what are you doing?" her mother cried.

Hermione's eyes were full of tears as she looked from one parent to the other. Both of their faces were horror stricken.

"Please, put your wand away," her father instructed.

She shook her head. "I can't... this is how it has to be. I can't let you get hurt. Please, know that I love you." She bit her lip and swirled her wand in their direction before her father could stop her. They both went into a daze as she closed her eyes, murmuring several words under her breath. She then took both of them by the arm and Apparated. Hermione didn't know what to expect, but she soon realized that her memory wasn't going to take them with her.

"I modified their memories, to protect them," she explained to Snape. "They don't know that they have a daughter anymore." He held her gaze for a few moments and then turned away, looking around the living room. It was so strange, she thought, to see him here in her childhood home. The two worlds she had known seemed so fully contrasted, so irreconcilable, in this moment.

"Where are they now?" he questioned.

"Australia."

She didn't know how long the memory would last. She watched Snape as he walked along the wall of her living room, leaning over the settee and looking into the picture frames.

"Is this you?" he asked, pointing to a small girl in a pink dress with a large bowl of strawberries cradled in her hands, her mother kneeling at her side. She nodded, watching his curious expression with interest. "Your childhood was quite different than mine," he murmured. He stepped away from the wall as it faded away. Hermione and Snape were standing in her bedroom at Hogwarts, watching Ron and herself fight.

"Ron... I can't." She had her hand at her forehead, as if suffering from a headache. "We've grown up together; you're like my brother. I love you, more than I can say, but... we can't Ron. This isn't right for me." She folded her arms across her chest and sat down on the bed. She was in distress, but not as much as he was.

"And who would be?" he demanded, pacing her room, his pride hurt.

"I... I don't know. Someone a bit more mature, and... a little more sophisticated. Oh, Ronald, I  _do_  love you... don't take it the wrong way," she cooed, watching him frown in anger and despair. "We're just so different... we don't want the same things. You're training to be an Auror, and I don't even know what I want to do with my life. We both need to do some growing up, and you have to find someone who can help you do that - not someone you'll bicker with for the rest of your life." She paused. "I need to find someone who will understand me as well."

"A bloke like that doesn't exist, Hermione, unless he's a complete hermit who'll spend all day working and all night reading."

She crossed her arms even tighter. "A man like that  _does_  exist, and just because  _you_  haven't known anyone like that doesn't mean they aren't real."

"So you've made up your mind?" he snapped.

She nodded. "A long time ago."

"I'll see myself out, then," he muttered, slamming the door behind him. She sighed and stretched out on her bed, looking up at the ceiling and becoming lost in thought.

Hermione refused to look at Snape and bent over her fireplace, humiliated at the nature of this memory she had allowed him to see, and at how blatant she had been. They had both described him without even realizing it.

She could sense Snape approach her, and then turned towards him. He was standing close to her, closer than she could ever remember him being.

"Miss Granger," he began, as she tried to regain a semblance of having some control over her heart's erratic beating, "you must not get angry during this next memory. I was... a different man, then." He turned away from her, and she realized that they were back in the Shrieking Shack, the same night as the Battle of Hogwarts. There Snape was, lying on the ground, bleeding, as she bent over him. Hermione was confused; why would he have wanted her version of the memory if he already had his own?

Her question was answered as the room became foggy, almost as if she was looking through an unclean glass. The space around them turned a pure white and Hermione stepped back, astonished. In front of them, a young man dressed in simple black robes was struggling off of the ground, swaying like a toddler learning to walk, before finally gaining his balance. His fingers went to his neck and, amazed at the smoothness, he ran his hands over his face, then looked down at them. As he turned around, trying to determine where he was, Hermione realized that it was a young Severus Snape. The air next to him began to shimmer, moving back and forth, until it took the form of a woman. Her voice was soft as she called, "Severus?"

"Lily!" he exclaimed, picking her up in his arms and twirling her. Hermione's heart did a flip. He looked so overjoyed, happier than she had ever seen his adult counterpart. Lily was dressed in a set of brilliant white robes, her red hair a flame compared to them. Lily was beautiful, Hermione thought, more beautiful than she had realized. Severus stepped closer to her, folding her in his arms. "I love you, Lily; I never stopped. I've waited my whole life for this day, when we could be together." Hermione would never have imagined that this man had ever felt anything other than happiness, the way he was grinning at her.

Lily pulled away, not letting their eyes meet, and his smile faded. "I've missed you too, Sev, but... we can't." Her voice almost seemed to echo in the strange space they were in, like it was coming from all around them. "We're not meant to be together. You have to go back."

"Go back?" he asked, letting go of her. "I've waited my whole life to see you again. You can't tell me I have to go back!" He was shaking from the emotions he felt, tears coming to his eyes.

"No, listen," she said, shaking her head. Her hair framed her face as she moved. Even in his desperation, Severus realized that he had forgotten the way she tucked her hair behind her ears, how sweet and gentle she always had been. "I may have died to save him, Severus, but you did everything you could to keep Harry alive. Your job was much more difficult - I could never repay you. I didn't have a choice, but you did, and what you did was so brave. I don't... I don't even deserve what you did for me."

"No, Lily... please..." he begged. When she said nothing his face went blank, and he dropped to his knees, as though he could not longer stand, his hands upon his face as he sobbed. "Lily - I'm sorry," he gasped, wretchedly, the pain too great for him to bear, but nothing, nothing compared to hers. "I'm so sorry," he choked. "All... my fault..." He could make no more words.

She, also, went to her knees. "Hey," she said, as she trying to calm him, watching him sputter, waiting for the emotional outpouring to slow. She grabbed one of his hands and held it between her two cold palms, his other hand wiping away his tears. "Sev... I love you. But we can't change anything. If we could go back in time..." Her eyes drifted away into the emptiness, but then settled back upon his. "But we can't. We've made our decisions, and we will never, ever be together." Hermione could see his face turn bloodless as the final bit of hope that he had lived for was pulled away from him. It was as if she had driven a knife through his heart. Lily's voice was shaking. "You must understand... you have a chance for a life. I don't, but you do. You can still love, you can still be happy. Don't throw everything that was given to you away for something you will never have." It was his turn to avoid her gaze, looking down and away from her, still sniffling. "Hey, look at me," she whispered, pressing her thin white hand against his chin, her voice echoing slightly. "I have to leave soon; Harry needs me. But, listen. There will be someone ready to love you as soon as you open your heart to them. You never were as cold a person as you wanted everyone to believe. You'll realize it soon enough."

"But who... who would ever love me?" he gasped, misery written across his face. Hermione had never seen anyone look so pitiful. All of this was so strange, so unnatural, as though she was only watching a dream.

"Whoever you allow to," she whispered. She kissed his forehead, stood up, and stepped away. "I'll love you always," she murmured, before disappearing silently, like a light that had been blown out. He stared at the place she had been standing, his lips trembling, before placing his head in his hands, sobs wracking his body once more.

Hermione suddenly realized why he had looked so vacant that night, when she had saved him from the effects of Nagini's attack. For the first time in seventeen years, perhaps more, he had spoken to Lily Potter only to be turned away once more. The young Severus faded from view as everything turned black, lightening only a little as Snape's chambers appeared in front of them.

Hermione was surprised as she heard her own angry voice exclaim, "I thought you would at least be kind to someone who had not only saved your life, but who had also spent her whole summer with you to make sure you were well. You're so selfish... you don't care about anyone but yourself! No wonder... no wonder no one likes you!" She watched as she stormed out of the room, Snape's black eyes narrowing and following her, not even flinching as she slammed the door. He stared at it, not moving from where he stood, and Hermione was almost surprised that it didn't burst into flames from the intensity of his gaze. He turned his head, beside himself with anger, and strode into his bedroom.

He emerged a few moments later with two pieces of paper in his hand. Hermione moved towards the fireplace, where Snape had fallen to his knees. She saw now that one paper was a yellowed letter with a delicate signature, the other a torn section of a photograph of Lily, her smiling face in the right-hand corner. Snape took them in his hands and looked them over before ripping them up with force, tossing the pieces into the fire.

"You were wrong!" he bellowed at the fire, Lily's almost taunting face melting and burning into ash. Hermione's heart banged against her chest in fear and from the shock of his temper. "You were wrong," he hissed, "and no one will  _ever.._." He could not finish.

Snape got up and knocked over the table next to the couch with a sharp swipe of his hand, listening to it hit the ground with a satisfying crunch. He collapsed into his armchair, placed his head in his right palm, and massaged his temples. He let out a sharp gasp. She had promised him something to live for, and there was nothing. How could he have trusted her? There was nothing... would be nothing - no one - for him.

"We are done here," Snape murmured, quickly pulling them out of the Pensieve.

He avoided Hermione's glance, turning around to stand beside the work table, his hands on either side of the bubbling cauldron upon it. Hermione could not believe that he would show those memories to her, that he would openly bare his pain and misery, his soul, to her. She could not believe what this last memory insinuated. Had he actually... grown to care for her?

The silence hung heavy between them, neither knowing what to say, Hermione in shock, and he, ashamed.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, at long last, looking down into the opalescent potion before him. He did not know how else to break the silence.

"Of course I do; it's Amortentia," she replied.

"Yes," he assured, and then added as an afterthought, "It is much too dangerous to leave unattended in my classroom."

Hermione realized that she still had her school bag over her shoulder, and gently placed it onto the table. She stood next to him, leaning in to smell the vapors, but frowned a little before drawing away. "You've brewed it incorrectly," she said quietly.

He looked down at her over his hooked nose, and slowly asked, "What do you mean, Miss Granger?"

She paused. "Well, Amortentia is meant to smell like the things that attract us most."

"And?"

"I can't smell anything."

He bent forward, brow furrowed, his large nose sampling the spiraling steam rising from the potion. He straightened, then paused as though weighing his words. "That doesn't mean it's brewed incorrectly." He looked down into her brown eyes. "As usual, Miss Granger, your eye for detail has caused you to overlook the more obvious explanation. Think." He backed away.  _"Think."_

"Well," she murmured, almost to herself, "if it has been brewed correctly, and one were to stand beside it and smell nothing particular, then..." she trailed off, a jolt of realization going through her.

"Yes?" he responded, his throat tight. He almost could not look at her.

She glanced from her school bags to him, and she understood.

"It would mean that which is most attractive to that person is right before them."

And that's when she knew. He did as well.

He looked away, as though she had slapped him. Her heart hammered and she became weak in the knees as she braced herself against the flood of this knowledge, of what it meant. A question rose in her mind, the only thing she could think to say, one that she could not keep herself from asking. "And what does it smell of to you, Professor?" she whispered, struggling to form the words.

He did not refute her as she had expected. Instead, he turned the words over in his mouth, as though weighing every one of them individually. "Leather-bound books," he answered quietly. He stood, rooted to the spot. "Licorice." His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "And linen."

"Linen?" That was not was she expected. She stepped towards him.

"Yes - when I was bedridden - those linen cloths you-" He turned away, unable to finish, his hands pressing down upon the countertop as though to steady himself.

Her hands went to her mouth.

He would not look at her. "You are-" he began, and stopped. Silence. "I can not-" He stopped again, as though he wasn't brave enough to continue, and shook his head. Slowly, he said, "I should have died that night, in the Shrieking Shack." He was desperately trying to maintain his composure. His hand had gone to clutch his heart, as though holding it in place, shielding it from her, and she didn't know if he had realized. "I was prepared to die. I had been expecting the Dark Lord to come to his conclusion far sooner, in fact, but he had become manic and unfocused near the end." Silence, again, as they listened to the bubbling of the potion. "But then, I survived. I was saved. And you-" He turned, finally, to face her. "You are the only one... who has ever..." She watched as the man known for his infallible self-control struggled, at war with himself. "How could you bear it?" he asked, leaning towards her, his voice full of self-hatred, anger. "I know what they say about me. It does not bother me - it is what I wanted." He paused, as though in agony. "But how could you bear to touch me - to look at me - as if-" He couldn't say it. He looked away. "You are..." He shook his head. He did not finish. She did not know what he meant. "And I," his hand was upon his chest again, "I am nothing less than a - a monster." No more words came.

She walked toward him, every nerve on fire. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, as though spent. His breathing was shallow. She now stood beside him.

She reached toward him, slowly, her left hand outstretched.

When her fingertips touched his skin, he flinched, slightly, then froze. She moved her hand to rest her palm so that it cradled his jaw, her thumb brushing along his high cheekbone. He, ever so slightly, leant towards her hand, as though he had been starved of this, of the simple act of human touch.

He turned to her, opened his eyes, and she held his piercing gaze, his gaze which did something to her that she did not understand, and he could not tear himself away.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "Not to me," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. She raised her right hand, her fingertips delicately tracing his eyebrow, flitting through his hair. His skin was warm, soft beneath hers.

"Miss Granger... you don't have the first idea... who I am," he gasped, frozen, struggling to speak. He could not move, as though in a trance, his face an expression of terror. He blinked at her, slowly, as if he could not believe she was there.

"I know who you are, Severus Snape," she whispered. She thought upon his lonely childhood, and the ensuing bad decisions, the fear and anger, the sacrifices, the isolation. But through that, the force that he had clung to, despite everything, was love. All he had ever really wanted, she realized, was love. "You don't have to hide who you are." She could feel him trembling, slightly, under her touch. "You don't have to hide yourself, from me." As her hands swept across his skin, as she took in the sight of his striking features and looked into his dark eyes, she began to realize she was unabashedly, irrevocably, beginning to fall in love with him.

It was excruciating, to watch the battle he was waging with himself. At once, not wanting and wanting her caress, believing it wrong yet desiring her, refusing to believe that this was happening but at the same time desperately, desperately hoping it was real. How could she make him see that this was not a trick, that he could trust her, that there was something growing between them that neither could deny?

She bit her bottom lip. "You have sacrificed so much, and you deserve happiness, and love, and I... I don't think anyone has ever told you that before," she said, the realization dawning upon her.

He stared at her blankly, then raised his shaking hands. They slowly, achingly rose to cup her face, delicately brushing away a tear that she hadn't realized had fallen. In this moment, they were simply two people, staring into each other, unable to believe what they saw. He then bent close to her, closed his eyes, she closed hers, and she felt a whisper of his lips upon her own.

Hermione pressed back, trembling so much that she didn't know how much longer she could stand. They both pulled away slightly, eyes still closed, as though in a dream they did not wish to wake from. She let out a little disbelieving gasp, then tilted her mouth upwards once more, feeling as he placed kisses on her lips again and again, fully meeting them each and every time with a tenderness that reached into her core.


	6. The Intrusion

Never in her wildest dreams did Hermione ever imagine she would be standing here, her body pressed so closely to Severus Snape's, his mouth positioned so softly above hers. Their lips met several more times before they broke apart, both breathing shallowly, leaning forward momentarily as though to kiss again but then standing slightly apart. They both appeared dazed. Hermione could not - simply could not - believe this was happening.

But he was just  _there_ , whether she believed it or not, there and real and unresisting. Her hands, which cradled his face, moved to rest upon the fabric of his jacket, and she felt the fingers of his hand run through the tips of her hair. She opened her eyes to find his astonishingly close to hers, his brow furrowed, his lips parted slightly. He touched the tip of his nose to hers, just for a moment, before withdrawing.

His hands then found hers and he stepped away, leading her the small distance between his kitchen and living room. Her eyes went from his gaze to his lips and back; his eyes never left hers. She could not bear to be any distance away from him, and when he sat down onto his armchair she joined him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He did not resist, and placed his right arm around her torso to meet his left, holding her to his chest. His mouth met hers again, and any apprehension that had remained within her melted away.

She mirrored his actions and met his lips with almost the same fury that he was meeting hers, his nose pressing into hers with a delightful pressure. Her hands reached up into his hair and felt it run through her fingers as she blissfully realized that this wasn't a dream, that he wanted her too, that he relished in the feel of his hands on her, and of her hands on him. She had never been kissed like this, as though his thirst for her was unquenchable, as if they had both tapped into something deeper within each other that neither could resist. She wanted his lips upon hers in a way she had not wanted anyone else's. She did not simply want him - she  _needed_ him. And she was not sure where this ravenous desire had come from.

He softly broke from their kiss, his lips and cheeks pink from the effort of kissing her. He looked into her eyes, wanting to ensure that she was still a willing partner, and still disbelieving that she could want this.

"Miss Granger-" he murmured.

"Hermione," she corrected softly. He looked at her as though baffled, before his expression softened. It was his turn to reach his hand out, cupping her cheek, and she placed her hand over his, as if to hold it there.

"Hermione," he repeated, as though trying out the shape of it in his mouth. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel, and leaned into his palm. "Hermione," he murmured, his hand skillfully moving from her lips to cheekbone to chin before leaving her ear to sift through her soft, wavy hair. He drew away. "And I suppose that makes me Severus."

"Severus," she whispered, her hands moving to his face, trailing across his features with the lightest of touches, as though seeing him for the very first time. Every part of him intrigued her - his neatly feathered eyebrows, the black hairs against the white skin, the small crease in his forehead from thought, his thin lips and almost legendary nose... She nearly giggled to think that it was all right here, at the tips of her fingers.

He tilted his head back to allow her to discover him as she pleased. She ran a free hand delicately along the thin red scars on his throat, feeling the difference between the new skin and the old. He shivered and gasped, as though it still pained him, and she pulled her hand away, placing it upon his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his jacket. It was this tragedy, the few moments he had spent with Death, which had brought them together. And he was alive - so alive - here and reveling in her presence, as though there was nothing in the entire world which could please him more than to have her cradled in his lap.

He lowered his head and stared back at her, his entire body still except for the movement of his chest as he breathed in and out, as though he was worried he would frighten her away if he moved too suddenly. Hermione had never noticed the true color of his eyes, difficult to discern without being so close. They were a dark grey, nearly black, but not as cold as she remembered, not now. She brushed the hollow of his cheek with the back of her hand, watching his eyes close and then slowly open, wondering to herself if anyone had touched him like this, had caressed his face lovingly, or whether she was the first. No one had ever looked at her the way he did now, as though he wanted to memorize her, this moment, forever. But his expression was also one of gratitude, as if he couldn't believe she was sitting there either.

Hermione gently took one of Severus's hands in hers, laying it flat against her own. Her hand was dwarfed, her small fingers fleshed out in soft pink skin lying against the yellowed-white of his own. While her fingers were smooth and nearly unblemished, his hand was covered in scars and burns from a lifetime of working with potions. She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles before threading her fingers through his. His lips reached hers one more, delicately, before Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, more content than she could ever remember being. She ran her thumb against the back of his hand and felt him respond in kind, everything feeling so natural to her, so absolutely  _right_. Severus turned so his nose rested against the top of her head, his mouth pressing against the tip of her ear, and closed his eyes as he listened to her breath, and she listened to his, both exhausted from the release of their emotions.

After some time the fire began to stir, the flames curling upwards and sparks flying across the stone floor. Hermione slipped out of her shoes and brought her feet up, hugging her knees and snuggling into his chest. They kissed again, then stopped to gaze into the other's eyes, neither wanting to break the silence, the magic of the moment they were sharing. There was no need for words, not right now.

Hermione placed a hand upon his chest, mesmerized by the movement of his breathing. Could he really be here, holding her and looking at her like this? It was all too fantastical to believe, too impossible to be real.

The flames in the grate sputtered again before turning a violent emerald green, and Hermione watched in horror as a furious Professor McGonagall stepped out of the hearth and strode right up to them. Before Hermione could even leap out of his lap McGonagall had wrapped a cold hand around her wrist, wrenching Hermione to her feet and away from him. Severus quickly stood up, his eyes turning cold, that impenetrable black, and meeting the Headmistress's.

"How could you permit something like this, S-Severus!" she sputtered angrily. "Not only permit, but be a part of? This is outrageous!"

"Let us not be so hasty, Minerva," he warned, his iron grip on the back of the armchair belying his anxiety and shock.

"How  _dare_ you make demands? You have been caught romancing a student! This is betrayal of your duty as a professor to the highest degree! Miss Weasley came into my office only moments ago and warned me about the possibility of something going on between you and Miss Granger, and I am entirely astonished to find you as so. Tell me," she said, turning to Hermione, as though hoping she would be the first to break under her angry glare, "how long has this been going on?"

Hermione's already flushed face turned darker from embarrassment. What had been a dream only a few moments ago was now a nightmare, and McGonagall was surely not going to believe what she had to say. "W-we've only just... just t-today," she stuttered.

McGonagall gripped her arm tighter. "Tell me the truth, Hermione, or your punishment will be made much worse."

"I-I swear, I'm not lying!" she exclaimed, looking the Headmistress in the eye for the first time before turning towards Severus, a wretched expression on her face.

"Shame on you, Hermione; you have made a serious misjudgment on your part. I will see you in your room in a few moments." McGonagall made a quick jerk of her head towards the door, signifying dismissal. Hermione didn't even have the bravery to retrieve her shoes which sat at Severus's feet, and instead walked the entire distance between the dungeons and Gryffindor Tower shoeless.

She sat on the edge of her bed, shivering from anger at McGonagall. She berated herself for having said anything to Ginny, and felt desperately upset. Her lips still tingled maddeningly from earlier.  _Severus... Severus,_ she repeated to herself, disbelieving what had happened, his name alone causing her to feel elation once more. How could she have not realized, for so long, that he had had feelings for her? That she had had feelings for him?

After a short time an exasperated McGonagall appeared in the fireplace, her hands balled under the draping of her dark green robes, her eyes peering at Hermione through square spectacles. Hermione quickly stood. "I am more than disappointed in you, Miss Granger. You are Head Girl; I expected you to behave responsibly and honorably, to be a model student. I cannot  _believe_ that I am here speaking to you about this. Of all people, you should be sensible."

"I hardly understand what is dishonorable about it," she said, gulping dryly as she shook.

"He is a Professor! He has a duty of care to protect you, not - not to take advantage of you, of any student-"

"I am to be twenty this fall. I think I am old enough to decide what is right for myself."

"Not while I am Headmistress," snapped McGonagall, her face white with anger. She paced in silence, eyeing Hermione's possessions as though trying to find something of Severus's which had been left there, or some token of affection. Her eyes lingered over the encyclopedia, but she then turned to Hermione and ordered, "You are forbidden to seek out Professor Snape. If you disobey me, you will be expelled and will not be readmitted. Likewise, Professor Snape is in danger of losing his position. It is by my grace alone that he is still teaching here, and I will not risk my own reputation any further. Do you understand me?" Hermione nodded curtly, her stomach twisting into knots, her face displaying only anger. "I don't think you are aware of the seriousness of your relationship with Professor Snape. If anyone was to know of this, the very name of Hogwarts would be defaced - and I will not allow that to happen." She swept out of the room and closed Hermione's door, turning left down the corridor to take the stairs to her office.

Hermione was completely devastated; she felt as though she would tear in half. She crumpled into her bed and sobbed, her head in her hands, gasping deeply with each cry. The pain was almost too much to bear.

When she had shed her last tear, she ran through what had happened that day over and over in her mind, always returning to the same thought. She could not believe that he had wanted her.  _He had wanted her._ And she had wanted him in return, deeply, intensely. It was as though an incredibly heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she could be honest with herself about her feelings, allow herself to believe that this was possible. His attentiveness, his tenderness, was more than she could have imagined.  _Severus_ , she thought to herself, letting his name drift around her mind, like a feather caught in the breeze. It settled, slowly and heavily, into her heart.

.

.

.

Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk with a hand to her forehead, as though she was suffering a terrible headache. She sipped some tea from the cup at her side before returning to the marking at hand, although it was difficult to concentrate with all of the fury which ran through her. The Headmistress leaned back into the thickly padded armchair that enveloped her, as she couldn't push the thoughts away anymore. How could Hermione Granger put her in this position! Always the model student, always an answer for any question; she seemed to be so sensible. And now that Harry and Ron had left, Minerva been sure her trouble-making days were over. Hermione was supposed to complete her education without any more illicit adventures, graduating with top marks and surely going on to an apprenticeship wherever she liked. How could she have possibly allowed Severus Snape to enter into the equation?

Minerva sighed, thinking back to this summer. Of course, she should have seen it; it was almost too obvious. All the time Hermione had spent taking care of him, talking to him, seeing his private chambers... The line between them had clearly been blurred, then crossed, at one point or another. And she had allowed it to happen.

"Why so displeased, Minerva?" a soft voice issued from behind her. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, turning to face the larger-than-life portrait of Albus Dumbledore which hung on the wall behind her.

She cleared her throat. "I discovered Severus Snape and Hermione Granger  _together_ in his private chambers this afternoon," she said quietly but angrily, leaning back against the desk as she looked up.

"Ah," he replied softly, folding his hands together to rest upon his knee. He looked as elegant as ever, dressed in the purple robes he wore as Headmaster, his neatly trimmed beard coming to a point at his waist.

"They seem to be in a physical relationship, and for goodness knows how long. Can you believe that?" she demanded crossly as she clenched the edge of her desk in frustration. Several other Headmasters and Headmistresses looked on from their portraits, whispering between themselves

"Miss Weasley did seem genuinely concerned when she alerted you this morning; it would be folly not to believe her claim. However, you seem as though a great injustice has been done to you, and I am curious as to why that is."

She paused, eyeing him from where she stood. "You couldn't possibly condone this type of behavior. It's simply not acceptable!"

"I know Severus extremely well, Minerva, and I can say with greatest confidence that his intentions would only ever be honorable-"

"You see  _nothing_ wrong?" she asked, in complete disbelief. "He's a professor - she's a  _student_!"

"Must you be so callous, Minerva?" His voice was gentle but strong as he leaned over to speak to her. "Everything we've ever done was to make people feel safe again, to live again. To love again. If Severus cares for Miss Granger, and she for him, then let it be. Goodness knows I've strayed from the path of what was suitable in my time," he chuckled, smiling calmly. "And besides; what could possibly be more glorious than love?"

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.

Severus stood in his kitchen, placing a lid on top of the cauldron containing the Amortentia. Luckily, Minerva had not noticed it; it assuredly would have dramatically escalated the conflict. She would surely not think him above sneaking Love Potions to his students, which spoke volumes about her estimation of him; an estimation which he had somehow managed to lower further than ever before.

His thoughts, of course, drifted to Hermione.  _Hermione._ Her name alone caused a tightening in his stomach, one he had not felt in a very, very long time. Would she have told the Weasley girl about - about feelings she held for him? It at once both angered and, in a way, pleased him. He had trusted her not to share his memories with anyone else - those were extraordinarily private - but it confirmed that whatever she had felt for him, those feelings had grown independently within her. He was not simply forcing the issue, creating something out of nothing.

He could not control what she said to other people, especially to someone as close to her as Ginevra Weasley, but he had assumed she would have acted with more propriety. This... this relationship they had entered into was not something she could simply shout about from the rooftops. Surely, she knew others were not going to be sympathetic towards her.

God, he was one to preach propriety; he had just had Hermione Granger in his lap, kissing her like a schoolboy! How could he have let this happen? How could she possibly want this, want him? His right hand went to his hair, then his cheek, the memory of her fingertips still upon him as he felt what she had felt. No, there was nothing particularly nice about his hair, or his skin. Surely, nothing nice about his nose. What could she possibly see in him, to run her hands along his face, with something akin to... affection? He was remarkably out of his depth, and decided that at this moment he needed something to help calm his nerves.

Severus opened one of his cupboards and found a dusty bottle of Firewhisky at the back, conjured a small crystal glass, and poured out a helping of the amber liquid. In past years, he drank only on the rarest of occasions. It was never worth the risk. He needed to be in control of his faculties at all times, in case he was summoned by one master or another, or was asked to complete a task at the shortest of notice. It had been paramount for him to keep his mind clear. But right now, he needed the opposite - he needed to loosen his control.

He sat down upon his armchair to reflect, spying her shoes still at the foot of it, the strangeness of something so foreign in his chambers striking him, even more so because they were hers. He left them where they were, sat back, and sipped from his glass. He felt a slight numbness begin emanating from the back of his head, sighed, and sipped again.

When had it begun?

Her first visits had brought much relief to him. Yes, she had helped his wounds to heal, relieved his pain, but it was more than that. She offered company, companionship in a way that he had truthfully never before known. Her mind was even quicker than he had previously given her credit for, and it was these discussions that pulled him back into himself after the attack. She told him of the past year, of the hunt for the Horcruxes. It had amused him, to think that the Dark Lord had been outsmarted by three teenagers - the two boys lacking any special talent, instead compensating with bravado and what had to be said was an unseemly amount of luck, assisted by one exceedingly bright witch with no wizarding blood in her, to boot. The gall of them, he had thought, but then the Dark Lord could not have been destroyed in any other way. He was arrogant enough to believe that he had somehow controlled for all outcomes. He underestimated them just as, it had to be said, Severus had done. He had not felt confident, in the way Albus had, with his fate resting in the hands of insolent, uncontrolled, unexceptional Harry Potter.

Severus shifted in his chair. Perhaps Hermione wouldn't have acted any differently towards someone else, if it had been someone else under her care. But she needn't have been kind, especially to him. She didn't have to conjure him water without being asked, saving him face when he was too weak to summon even a goblet. She didn't have to bring him books from the library knowing that, once a bit stronger, he would want something with which to occupy his mind. Nor ensure his window was open on those few hot summer nights, to bring a breath of fresh air into his room. Nor cool his brow with a wet linen cloth, bring him meals he liked from the kitchens, or smile at him in greeting when she crossed his threshold, as though she had been happy to see him.

Severus took another sip of his drink. At some point, near the end of the summer, he had made an observation aloud to her - he couldn't even now remember what he had said - and she had grinned, and then laughed, a full, joyous laugh, and that was when the first stirrings of emotion began in his stomach. He had been disgusted in himself, repulsed that he could allow himself to hold even the remotest emotion towards her, Hermione Granger, his student.

But, though he tried to deny it, cast aside this feeling, he could not. It began to consume him. After all these years, indomitable as a fortress, he had been undone by a girl, whose ploy had been nothing more than show him kindness while asking nothing in return. It had taken astonishingly little for her to get through his defenses. The only option he had had was to push her away, although deep in the back of his mind, he held the sick hope that perhaps she would push back, insist that she cared for him in return. He had made a serious misstep, and she had told him how she really felt. She did not like him; moreover, no one liked him. She was not wrong. How could he have let himself think otherwise?

And then he had found her that day, her head in his Pensieve, and he balked at the nerve she possessed to do that to anyone, much less to him. Her ensuing illness had led to their deal, the exchange of memories. He had not been prepared for what they showed.

He had desperately wanted to know why she had saved him. It was the one line of thought that he clung to, telling himself that it was only out of duty to her own Gryffindor values of bravery and chivalry that she healed him; nothing more. And then he watched as she'd caressed his face. And then she'd grown distressed at the memory of Lily, a look of jealousy in her eyes, which shocked him to his core. After that, he had been at a complete loss.

The Firewhisky in his glass was running low, and Severus drank the rest in one mouthful. It had not quite calmed him as much as he had hoped, but it had brought him a certain clarity. That despite what she had said to him that day, when they had argued, something about Severus Snape had gotten under the skin of Hermione Granger. Somehow, despite who he was, despite everything, she had grown to feel some affection for him. Enough that she had eagerly returned his kisses, enough that she had shivered with pleasure under his touch. Enough that he was what she smelled in the vapors of the strongest Love Potion known to wizardkind.

He was not worried about Minerva - she was an annoyance, not an insurmountable obstacle. What ran through him now was the hope that Hermione had not been punished unduly. He could not forgive himself if her education had been jeopardized on his behalf.

He closed his eyes, and could still almost feel the sense of her skin on his. He prided himself on his unassailable self-control, and while he was struggling just at this moment, he knew - even if it required waiting until the end of the year, when she was no longer a student of this school - if she really truly wanted this, somehow wanted him, he could, and would, wait for her.

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Hermione sat with textbooks splayed open around her, trying to study but finding it nearly impossible to concentrate. Her eyes pained her whenever she blinked, but she kept on even though it was the middle of the night. She had tried to fall asleep for hours but could only lay with her eyes open, her mind racing and her chest heavy from shock, replaying what had happened earlier in her mind. The old-fashioned wireless at her knee was playing a soft instrumental song to keep her awake as she prepared for the final round of exams preceding the end-of-the-year N.E.W.T.s. There also was half a foot due on advanced charmwork, star charts for Astronomy, and she still had to practice Vanishing Spells. It was going to be a long Sunday.

A flash of white light suddenly appeared at her window. Hermione assumed it was a ghost even though it was rather bright, but it remained, hovering just outside. It tapped on the window pane, alerting her to its presence – it wanted to be let in. She stood up and lifted the latch at the window to allow it entry. It was a Patronus, a Thestral, and it swooped into her room, carrying the cold night air with it. It landed on its four legs and stood between her and the fireplace. She could see the bones of it ribs through its thin papery skin, and she watched as it opened its sharp beak. It began to speak in the deep voice of Severus Snape.

"I apologize if I woke you, but I could not chance Minerva spotting it. She will be watching the owls and fireplaces. It is not worth your expulsion to attempt to contact me. Concentrate on studying for your exams and do not worry. I will think of something." With that the Thestral shimmered, and then the mist slowly dissipated, dissolving away into nothing. The room became dark again except for the firelight, and despite feeling hopeless, Hermione sat down and smiled a little to herself. Somewhere, Severus Snape was hoping that she had received his message. He was thinking of her.

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Hermione suffered through an early Monday morning with McGonagall constantly looming over her during Transfiguration, a strenuous lesson in Herbology during which she was required to prune the school's Devil's Snare, and a History of Magic class more boring than usual. She had a break for lunch, and instead of heading for the Great Hall with everyone else she climbed to the library on the fourth floor.

As Professor Binns had endlessly lectured, her mind had wandered off. She questioned the assumption McGonagall had provided, that a professor and a student were not allowed to enter into a relationship. She understood why this was generally the case, however perhaps there were certain circumstances that allowed it. In any case, there had to be a definitive answer, and there was only one place she could think of looking.

She walked through the familiar rows of bookshelves and wound her way to the very back, near the entrance to the Restricted Section. She knocked upon the door of a small office and stepped backwards as Madam Pince answered, opening the door and peering up at Hermione through small glasses resting on the edge of her nose. It was uncanny how much she looked like a rather peeved bird which had been in a rainstorm, thin and dusty with pointed shoulders and crossed arms.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice harsh and thin.

"Could I borrow the school's rulebook?" Hermione asked, nervously.

"What for?" droned Madam Pince, looking down her beak-like nose at Hermione who attempted her best to stay calm.

"I'm just... doing research." The librarian eyed her again, but since she knew it was not unlike Hermione to do unnecessary research she acquiesced and returned from the reserves in the back with a very large volume in her arms.

"You're going to have to read it here. It's not allowed to leave the library."

Hermione nodded and took it in her arms, laying it on the table in front of her and standing in front of it to flip through page by page. It was thousands of pages long, each one a foot in width and three in length – no one could possibly know everything within it. It was discouraging. She tried to narrow her search, but always became distracted by what she found. Pages and pages on conduct in the hallways, things that were not allowed to be stored in broom closets, punishments that were no longer permitted to be practiced, illegal plants not to be brought into the school... Finally, she found sections about the code of conduct of teachers and students... But where would it be?

After the longest time she found the passages she had been looking for. She quickly took out her parchment and scratched them down, along with the corresponding page and article numbers. Satisfied with her quick research, she stuffed the paper into her pocket, found Madam Pince, handed her the rulebook, and ran down to the dungeons. Despite her attempt to hurry, she was late for Potions. She opened the heavy wooden door and everyone in the room turned around, surprised at her disheveled appearance. Severus stood at the board in the front of the classroom. Not only had she been late, but she had interrupted his lecture.

His black eyes bored into hers, and a jolt of emotion ran straight through her. She almost forgot to breathe. He quickly ran his eyes up and down her, and after the briefest of pauses, drawled, "Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Miss Granger."

 _Miss Granger_... Her name on his lips struck her so deeply that it was a wonder she found her way to an open stool next to a large Hufflepuff boy without stumbling from her weakened knees. He immediately resumed the lesson as if nothing had happened. This was Severus true to form, slipping comfortably into the character he had perfected, the curmudgeonly Potions master, to conceal a secret no one could know.

She pulled out her Potions book and began taking notes, listening intently to Severus and watching his every move more closely than she ever had before. The hand that held his wand, directing the chalk to write notes upon the board... Had it really held hers? His eyes that carefully swept over everyone else's in turn before casually meeting hers... Had she really been only inches from them? And his lips... At the thought, her hand unconsciously went to her own. She looked down, hoping no one had noticed.

It seemed to be the shortest lecture he'd ever given, ending with him instructing them to complete the practical out of their book on their own. She looked around and noticed that everyone already had their ingredients. Of course, he always handed them out at the beginning of class.

She stood up, almost deliriously happy to find a reason to speak to him, and walked to his desk at the front of the classroom. He looked up at her approach and quietly asked, "Miss Granger?" His eyes were inscrutable.

Her throat was so dry she could barely speak, but somehow she was able to convey the fact that she didn't have any of the necessary supplies to make the potion. He stood up and she followed him to the store room, a small chamber in the back which he unlocked with the flick of his wand. Severus entered first, and as soon as she had come in behind him he turned around and pushed the door so that it was only slightly open, quickly casting  _Muffliato._

He rapidly murmured, "We must be quick; I am sure Miss Weasley is rather suspicious as it is. Was it true that you told her that you thought... thought that there was something between us?" He was not accusatory but instead plainly unsure, flicking his wand towards the high shelves as he listened for her response. She realized now what a betrayal that would have seemed like to him, if it had been true.

"No, I swear - I told her that I had entered your Pensieve, but when I didn't want to tell her what I'd seen, she'd inferred that the only reason I didn't want to was because you had... manipulated me, in some way." The clink of glass vials was soft as bottles of ingredients poured one by one into empty vials suspended in midair.

"Minerva is furious, and it is difficult to make her sympathetic to a cause on my behalf even when she isn't." Severus watched as three mouse teeth made their way from a jar on the shelf into another vial. "She has not punished you, has she?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But, I have something I have to tell you. I've been thinking, and I realized that nothing could change McGonagall's mind once it's made up. However, she could be forced to change it," she said eagerly, watching him turn to face her.

"How so?" He stepped closer, his wand gripped tightly in his hand.

"She's a stickler for rules; she wouldn't be able to keep us apart if it wasn't justified. So, I've read through a bit of the Hogwarts rulebook. There are several articles that I've written down, here," she said, reaching into her pocket with her right hand. He waved his wand so the vials sat upon the shelves behind him, then took the parchment she held from her, quickly scanning it with his eyes as she spoke. "Essentially, the rulebook states that as long as the student is of age, and the relationship is consensual, there's no reason for it to be disallowed." A huge grin splayed across her face, and Severus's mouth turned upwards at the edges.

"Hermione, you truly are a brilliant girl."

"Well-" His mouth was on hers, soft and tender, and she pushed back eagerly, her hands once more upon his chest. How could his lips on hers be so instantly intoxicating, so deliciously good? He drew away quickly, his hand lingering against her lower back, the vials of ingredients now following her as they moved to leave the store room.

"We will speak to Minerva after dinner," he murmured, removing his palm and striding towards his desk as she floated to her table. She didn't even notice the dark, suspecting look Ginny was shooting her with, and knocked nearly all of her beetle eyes off of the table, but she knew that she could not feel any better.


	7. Night Flight

Hermione ate dinner with urgency, gulping down her chicken soup at a velocity that would have impressed Ron. Severus sat at the staff table, patiently cutting slices of ham and placing them onto his dinner plate. He was at the very end of the table, his usual post, as far removed from McGonagall as was possible. Hermione ignored the watchful gaze of both Ginny and the Headmistress as she pulled out her books, studying as she waited for Severus to make his exit. The sky above was stormy and clouded – it looked as though it would snow soon – and the only light in the room descended from the floating candles a few feet above her head.

Students began to trickle out and McGonagall was surprisingly one of the first teachers to leave. Hermione figured she must have some marking to complete. Severus sat contemplatively at the table, sipping gently from his glass as he gave time for McGonagall to reach her office. He rose and left the Great Hall after several minutes, Hermione following him when some more time had passed. She saw him standing at the foot of the stairs, scolding several fourth years for casting spells in the hall, before turning to walk up to the first floor. She followed him at a distance, matching his pace. They walked together but apart in silence as they took staircase after staircase, meeting no one on their way. He stopped to allow her to catch up to him when they had made it to the seventh floor.

They stood before the statue of the gargoyle which created a blockade to the Headmistress's office. Severus loudly said, " _Factum Facillimus_ ," and watched the stone statue turn. He gave Hermione a heavy, meaningful gaze, and they stepped onto the platform. She felt his fingers graze the back of her hand, as though ensuring she was still there, and they rose as the gargoyle twisted upwards.

When it stopped, Hermione and Severus both strode towards McGonagall's desk as she looked up, her lips pressed thinly together. Her hair was not in its usual bun but instead lay down in sections upon her back. She had obviously not expected any visitors at this time of evening. Her quill paused over the sentence she was correcting on an essay and she placed it into the inkwell as she stood up.

"I am astonished at your insolence," she spat, standing at the corner of her desk as she looked from Severus to Hermione with her violently blue eyes. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" Severus pulled the folded piece of parchment from within his cape and handed it to the Headmistress, watching her unfold it and read it quickly. "What is this?" she asked.

"Lines from the school's rulebook," Hermione squeaked.

"The article numbers are there – you may look them up to verify their accuracy if you wish. But the meaning is clear," Severus stated. "There is nothing inappropriate or illicit about... this."

Hermione watched as McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows in frustration. She had been right - the Headmistress followed the rules above all and would not refuse anyone their rights, despite her own personal feelings, if there was nothing backing her claim. She exercised strict rule over the student body, but she was not a tyrant.

She laid the parchment on her desk and cleared her throat, looking older than ever. "Very well, then. However, I am asking you to keep the news of your relationship private at least until the school year has ended. The last thing I need is a rumor that our Potions master is smitten with the Head Girl..." she trailed off, almost to herself. Hermione, overjoyed but containing her emotions, looked up for the first time and noticed the larger than life portrait of Dumbledore hanging behind the desk. She could have sworn that she saw him wink.

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Severus unlocked the door to his chambers, letting Hermione enter first before shutting the door behind them. He took off his cloak and hung it on a hook near the doorway, lit the fire in the grate from across the room, and turned to her.

"Before we go much further, I-" he stumbled on his words, looking uncharacteristically hesitant, "Hermione - are you sure?" He stepped towards her, his hands gently clasping her arms, just below her shoulders, her hands automatically going to his chest. His eyes were strained, his face drawn tight, as though preparing himself for the inevitable. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She swallowed hard, her throat going dry. She still could not believe it, the way his hands on her made her feel. Those black eyes held hers again. "Of course - of course this is what I want." She paused, her stomach turning over on itself. Did he not want her? "And you - are you sure that  _you_  want this?"

He paused, looking away, and then found her gaze again. He lent to her, her mouth opened to his, and she lost all other sensation, his lips meeting hers again and again as before. Hermione steadied herself using her hands upon his chest, and his hand went to her jaw, his body folding into hers, a large hand moving to sit on her lower back as he intensified his kisses, his tongue even once parting her lips softly, as though he could never tire of this, of her. It was as if the months apart had built up an unbearable tension within each of them, independently, and they were now making up for lost time.  _How could he not want her? He had wanted her, and for so long._

After the longest time, they pulled apart and he led her to the settee. He sat in the corner and pulled out his wand, tapping the seat so that it extended a little. He pushed off his shoes, moved to sit parallel to the back of the settee, and Hermione sat beside him, leaning against his chest. She was so surprised how sweet, how  _tender,_ he was with her - sensitive in a way unlike any other man she had been with. Her cheek lay directly above his heart, her legs alongside his. His hands ran through her hair and then rested on her back, his fingertips sometimes drawing circles, while her hands wrapped around his neck, both simply happy to hold each other close, still in awe, in wonder of each other. Her fingers enjoyed the smoothness of the skin beneath his ears, the area below his jaw, the softness of his earlobe, touching as though to memorize, and as though she could not bear to stop.

A deep rumble came from beneath her when Severus spoke, and she closed her eyes to feel as well as listen. "Hermione," he said quietly, "I have a question."

Her thumb was softly stroking the back of his ear while her fingers were threaded through his hair, but she stopped at his words. It still surprised her every time he used her first name. She whispered breathlessly, "Yes?"

"Even after seeing your memory of the event, I could never quite understand why you felt so compelled to save me when I was attacked. Any other student in your position would have accepted my fate – some even gladly." She made a noise of disapproval but he retorted, "I know that I am the least liked professor at this school, but as I said, that is intentional. As to my question – do you have an answer?"

She drew her right hand from his ear and ran her fingers along his side, tentatively at first, but then when he did not react, more intently, exploring the spaces between his ribs. "Do you remember the incident at the Department of Mysteries?"

"Hmm."

She took it as a yes and she quietly explained, "I was hit with a curse that almost killed me, and Madam Pomfrey had me drink ten potions a day to remove the effects. I remember asking her what was in one of them because it was rather sweet, unlike the others. She could only guess, and I knew that meant she hadn't brewed them. I figured the only person who could of was you. So I owed you  _my_  life." She paused. "Besides, I wouldn't have let you die. You weren't my favorite person but I would never be so – cruel – as to just let someone die."

He kissed the crown of her head and murmured deeply, "Very true. However, I was only fulfilling my position as Potions master of this school. You were acting out of selflessness, and for that I am still in your debt."

Hermione breathed shallowly before shifting herself so that she sat upright, her face centimeters from his. "I'll relieve you of it," she declared, feeling with a thrill his hands move to hold her hair back as they kissed. Every one precious, delicate, breathtaking.

"What do you mean?" he asked during a pause, his voice breathy, his eyes searching hers. He could never quite capture in his mind's eye any more than a fleeting impression of her true beauty, as though he was incapable of holding on to such a thing. Every time she looked at him, he was instantly reminded - she was, simply, stunning.

"You said that... you are in... my debt." They could barely break apart for they wanted to taste, to explore, to touch so much that their thirst for each other was unquenchable. "I don't want you... beholden to me... I want you... of your own... free will." Her throat had tightened. "I relieve you... of your debt."

He paused, opening and closing his eyes slowly, pressing his nose to hers, their lips almost touching. "So be it," he asserted, his lips meeting hers again. He ran his hands along the back of her arms, skimming his right hand along her torso and hip before resting it upon her cheek, watching her burrow her face into the cloth of his jacket and smile contentedly. Smile, for she could think of nowhere she would rather be. He drew her close and held her there for a long time, feeling her stomach touch his as they breathed in and out. It was curious how the emptiness had gone from him; the new fullness was almost too much to bear.

As he tugged at the tips of her wavy hair, he found himself wanting to ask her - what could possibly have endeared him to her? How could she embrace him, seek comfort from him, as she was now? How could she smile at him as if it had been  _he_  who had saved  _her_  life, had shown  _her_  kindness? But he did not want to break the spell that, somehow, they both were equally under. He did not want to risk questioning her in case he somehow changed her mind. He was selfish; he wanted her kisses, her embrace. If Hermione Granger had somehow decided that it was his mind, his body, that she wanted... then he would do nothing else but let it be.

They lay there for a while longer, before Severus stroked her cheek fondly and reluctantly said, "I am certain you have work to complete for your classes tomorrow."

She gave a small sigh. "I suppose you're right," she murmured, turning her face to look up at him, her cheeks flushed and the corner of her lips curling upwards. She hadn't particularly wanted this to end.

They both sat up. Her hair was messy and she immediately smoothed it out, pulling down her shirt which had ridden up. She accepted her schoolbag as he summoned it, the bag heavy with books she had yet to read, tiny passages marked out with pieces of parchment from old assignments. Hermione opened up to one of them, a quill, inkwell and fresh sheet of parchment by her side as she read and took notes, forcing herself to concentrate. Severus remained at her side and read with her, silently watching her movements, noticing the speed at what she read and the way she formed her letters as she wrote.

After she had finished her schoolwork she noted, "It's rather late; I suppose I should be going now."

She placed her schoolbag over her shoulder and he led her to the door, as though they had done this many times before. He gave her a tender kiss goodnight, and said, "Sleep well."

"You too," she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss him again. "When... when should I come again?"

"Whenever you can manage," he replied after one last kiss, the smallest flicker of a grin lighting his face. She could hardly tear her eyes away from his, but somehow managed to cross the threshold and close the heavy wooden door behind her.

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.

The first month of their time together had flashed by, and then their second. The weather changed, the snow melted, the trees grew leaves and the flowers grew buds, and even though April was grey and dismal Hermione had never been happier. She and Severus were inseparable, caught up in the task of discovering each other.

Hermione was forever finding new things about Severus that endeared him to her. The way he always took his tea black, at any time of day. How he tended to have three books on the go at once, so that when he became disinterested in one he could move onto another. The way pepper in his food always made him sneeze. And then there were things about her, things that Severus could not help but notice - how she sucked on the end of her quill when deep in thought. How she could, with relative ease, have a two-way conversation with herself as he watched, bemused. The way she would shiver, every time, when he kissed her at the corner of her collarbone and her neck.

Hermione spent most every evening with Severus as she studied and prepared for her N.E.W.T.s, letting him help her when she needed it. She noticed after some weeks of intensive study that her magic had changed, and not from practice but from feeling. It was stronger and more focused than she'd even known it to be, and her professors were more delighted by her talent than ever. Things she had never thought herself capable of – such as advanced wandless magic – seemed to flow from her naturally. She wondered if, as the power of wizards or witches who are unhappy ebb from them, perhaps the opposite was true.

Severus seemed to have changed as well, although it was shown by a subtle lessening of tension in his face, a softer timbre to his voice, and more patience as he helped Hermione with her lessons. They never seemed to be able to have their fill of the other, no matter the time spent together or the number of kisses exchanged.

For Severus, however, it was difficult to believe that this was real. The past twenty years had not gone by without leaving a mark on him that he didn't think could ever be removed. A small part of him felt sure Hermione would wake up one day and realize what a mistake she had made in caring for him, that she would perhaps have been better suited to someone else, someone younger, someone that wasn't so universally mistrusted and disliked. He almost, in a way, felt guilty.

More than that, however, the thought that there was something good in his life caused him to fear that it would only be taken away or destroyed. To enter into a relationship with someone else was to allow yourself to become vulnerable. It felt as though a piece of him was now out in the open, walking around, exposed to attack, when before he had always been impenetrable. If something were to happen to her because of her association with him, he would not be able to bear it. If she was ever later to his than he had expected he became anxious, worried that it had finally happened. To hear her knock on the door and see her face looking up at him brought him as much happiness as relief. He could not tell her that he felt this way. He berated himself, told himself he was being ridiculous, that there was nothing to fear.

But he often would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having woken from a dream where Hermione was on the floor, blood pouring from her middle, her mouth open. Or sometimes writhing in agony, screaming from the Cruciatus Curse. Or dead, limp, the light gone from her eyes. Always a dark figure standing over him, a wand pointed at the middle of his chest, and a green flash of light. And always, somehow, he knew it had been his fault.

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.

One weekend, Hermione took a trip to Diagon Alley to buy several books from Flourish and Blotts that Severus suggested would be helpful for her N.E.W.T.s. He offered to escort her, but being together in public would surely cause suspicion. Besides, Hermione was independent and enjoyed time by herself, especially on a warm and windy April afternoon, and she assured him that there was no need to accompany her.

She entered the dark and musty shop after escaping from the mobs of people outside soaking up the nice weather. More advanced books were found in the deeper reaches of the store, and so she made her way through the rows and past shelves which extended up to the ceiling in every direction. Hermione turned the corner and stopped in her tracks from surprise, before walking quietly and then throwing her arms around an unsuspecting Harry Potter.

"Whuh?" he asked, slightly frightened and muffled by her hair, unable to speak.

"Harry Potter, in a bookshop?" she said sarcastically as she drew away. "What's next, Ron Weasley in an apothecary?"

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, properly hugging her and then pulling away again. She noticed he was wearing the simple grey robes of an Auror in training. "I haven't seen you in forever! Sorry for not writing-"

"We're both to blame for that, I guess. But what are you doing here, really?"

"Here for some, uh, research. Training is brutal, Hermione."

It was true - he looked very haggard and careworn. But she still mocked playfully, "You finally have to write your own essays and read your own books?"

He smiled back weakly. "Well, as bad as I look, Ron's worse..."

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

"Fine; he's Ron, he can deal with anything." The way he said it and then looked away made her wonder if he was being truthful.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about something."

He sighed and said, "I've, er... I've heard about you and S-"

Hermione hushed him quickly, whispering, "You are going to be the worst Auror in all of Britain if you talk about  _secrets_ openly!"

" _Openly_! We're in a  _bookshop_ -"

"Let me know when you're leaving - we can talk then. I have several things to buy, but I'll be quick." She was true to her word, and they both left Flourish and Blotts to find somewhere to eat. Hermione had not spent time in the outside world for a while; she had been on the run from the Snatchers with Harry last year and then was cooped up in Hogwarts all last summer. She hadn't even left the castle until now. Nearly every face turned to them as they walked by, some people murmuring their names and others outright thanking them for what they had done. Hermione pulled Harry down a side alley and into a more deserted street to avoid the attention.

They quickly found a pub that was tucked away. They were the only ones inside, everyone else opting to take their pints of Aldwinkle Ale out into the sunny beer garden, from where much chatter and laughter was drifting. The walls were paneled in dark wood and decorated with paintings of dragons which swooped in and out of the frames. They ordered their food at the bar and sat down.

She asked him quietly, uncomfortably, "How much do you know?" It was not that she was ashamed of her feelings for Severus - she was, however, aware of the prejudice held against him, and did not know when it would be right for her to have told Harry, considering...

"I know what Ginny told me. She... er... she wrote me last week that you'd hadn't been speaking to her for a while, she said you'd been acting strangely. She'd followed you into the dungeons one evening, and... you're... seeing Snape?" he asked, as though still in disbelief. When she nodded, her mouth suddenly gone dry, he continued, trying to stay calm. "Er... how exactly did that happen?"

She hadn't known what reaction to expect from him – she had figured he would most likely be outraged, or disgusted – but she hadn't considered he would be composed while talking about it. She began to explain everything. What had happened over the summer, what she had seen in the Pensieve, and what had happened since.

"So you know about him and... my mum?"

"Yes, I do." This was every bit as excruciatingly awkward as she had expected. Here she was, falling in love with a man that had dedicated his life to the revenge of - because of his love for - her best friend's mother.

"Okay - well - at least I'm glad he's not, er, hiding anything from you," he stumbled. He rifled through his hair, and said, "Honestly, it's going to take me a while to, uh, come to terms with this."

"I understand," Hermione responded. And she did understand - it had been difficult enough for her to come to terms with her own emotions, at the beginning. "But I want you to know, Harry, that there is much more to him than I realized, and I feel like I've only just scratched the surface, and... I trust him, completely," she said, voicing an opinion she hadn't realized she held.

"Well, then," he said, swallowing hard, "I suppose that means I'll have to trust him too." He gave her a bit of a funny smile and said, after a pause, "Ginny's upset you haven't spoken to her."

"Well, she shouldn't have gone to McGonagall without at least  _trying_ to talk to me first," Hermione rebuked. "She nearly got me expelled!"

He waited a while before adding, "Well, you did tell McGonagall about my Firebolt, remember? That was unfair."

"A  _broomstick_  is rather different than a relationship," she scoffed, even though she was afraid of him becoming cross with her too. She'd missed him a lot the last few months. "And besides, it  _could_  have been jinxed."

Their main course was brought to the table, and when the waiter left Harry looked up at her furtively, as though he had a question that he wanted to ask but didn't think she would like to hear.

"Oh, what is it?" she asked quietly, a grin upon her lips as she crossed her arms. She felt this might be embarrassing.

"Do you call him Severus?" he asked, teasing.

"Well, of course, what else would I call him?" she responded, a little indignantly before she blushed. "And don't make fun, he's charming, and... rather sweet," she began, before Harry interrupted.

"Charming and sweet? Those are the last adjectives I would have ever have used to describe Snape."

"He's... different. Well, around me that is..." Her thoughts trailed away as she nibbled her baked cod.

"I just don't enjoy the thought of you two... snogging." He acted as though there was a bad taste in his mouth. "Er... that  _is_ all you do, right?"

She blushed profusely. "Of course - who do you think I am? You're quite audacious to be asking. And you and Ginny, do you do more than snog?"

He blushed as well. "No, no... we barely see each other these days. But I do think that once she's out of school, we'll be moving in together."

"That's great!" she said halfheartedly. Hermione tried to look happy, but she thought about her own plans.

"Do you know where you're going to live this summer?"

"No," she said quietly. "We... haven't talked about it."

"Well, if you don't have anywhere to go, you know you can always camp out at my flat."

"Please, don't ever use the verb 'camp' in jest," she joked bitterly. "We've done enough of that for a lifetime." He laughed, and she was relieved to see some of the tiredness lifted from his face. "I've missed you a lot, Harry. Please, try to write me some more."

He chuckled again. "Between carrying letters back and forth from Ginny to me and then to the Ministry, my owl's going to collapse. But I'll try."

.

.

.

"Now, add the ground quills to the potion," he enunciated patiently, one finger on the thin script of the leather-bound volume as he read down the page. Hermione shook some white power into the brew and watched it boil madly, shooting sparks into the air.

Severus looked upwards, realized what she had done, and before she knew it he had pulled her under the work table. Sparks ricocheted off of the stone walls of his chambers, making loud pops when they hit a surface. He cast a blocking spell, an invisible bubble which enveloped them. She pulled her feet in and let him wrap his arms around her, a fountain of embers raining down all around them.

After the explosion subsided he slowly drawled, " _Quills_ , Hermione, not  _whitlow_." She blushed before crawling out from under the table, looking upon the melted cauldron and ruined supplies, and then began to laugh.

"I'm so sorry! That was dreadful, and I've managed to ruin your things... But could you imagine what they would have thought if I'd done  _that_ during my N.E.W.T.s?"

He gave two low chuckles, as though creating the sound was foreign to him and required extra effort, and then looked at the silver lump on the table "You would surely have caught everyone's exam on fire, considering you made short work of my best pewter cauldron."

"I'm  _really_  sorry," she said sincerely, pulling out her wand and clearing the mess from the table. Several other ingredients in their bowls had caught on fire and were reduced to ash, while others continued to burn.

Severus extinguished the flames and grumbled, "That was the last of my whitlow."

Hermione suggested, "We can always go out and collect more, if you like." She took the bowls to his sink and washed them out carefully. When she turned around she realized he had left the room and was rummaging through the closet in his bedroom. "What are you doing?" she asked, standing in the doorway.

"Taking you up on your offer," he explained, pulling a Firebolt from his closet.

Hermione edged away from him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"You know very well we can't Apparate out of Hogwarts, and the doors to the school are locked. McGonagall would be alerted if they were opened; so we will fly. Now," he said, turning to her and smirking, "would you prefer to steer, or-"

"You're not really going to make me get on that thing, are you? I hate flying," she explained, a disdainful look on her face. "And really, right now? Surely there is a better time?"

"The whitlow for the potion requires it to be picked by moonlight. Also, I doubt you've ever flown with someone as experienced as I."

A little melodramatically, she asked, "You'll kill me because I ruined your cauldron?"

"Do you not trust me to keep you safe?" he inquired calmly. She bit her bottom lip, and then stepped towards him. "If you sit behind me, my cape will be in your way," he remarked, untying it before placing it over her shoulders and fastening it around her neck, even though it was rather large for her. "Now, you won't chill."

He mounted the broom and reached for her hand, tentatively placing it on his waist and waiting for her to climb on behind him. After some reluctance, she stepped over the handle.

"I never took you for a Quidditch enthusiast," she teased.

"The Dark Lord ensured we had the appropriate tools for the night Mr. Potter was being transferred to the Weasleys in secret, and so I was left with this."

It was admissions such as this, from time to time, that would unnerve Hermione. Admissions that revealed the extent to his entanglement with Voldemort, the parts he had played, and that this man she so delicately kissed was not completely innocent. She felt that there were so many things about him she still did not know.

She paused, then carefully threaded her hands so that they met against his stomach. She tucked her thighs against his before feeling the jerk of the broom as they left the ground, their feet dangling only inches above stone as they hovered.

"And how are we getting out of the castle?" she asked doubtfully, her voice strained.

"Through the window," he explained, pulling out his wand, pointing it at the small area of paned glass over his bed and rocketing towards it. Hermione screamed; it appeared as though they would hit the wall. But the window magically opened, enlarging just enough for them to squeeze through.

They gained altitude quickly as the cool breeze threw her hair back over her shoulders. Even though she still didn't feel safe, a bit of exhilaration filled her as they climbed into the sky and swirled around the castle once, its windows full of light. She held on tighter as they passed over a part of the forest and then the lake, his cape whipping back and forth behind her as the night wind caught it.

"How far away?" she yelled.

"Not far." They quickly flew beyond the area she knew of, past many isolated forests and lakes until the ground became scrub-like. They headed south and west towards the southern highlands, flying low between the peaks which eclipsed the moon from time to time. Once or twice they passed over the headlights of a lone car traveling the roads which seemed to lead nowhere.

After what felt like the longest time they finally slowed and landed on the rocky slope of a hillside. She dismounted first, her legs shaking from the fear of flying and the weakness it caused her – she hadn't been on one in ages.

Severus held the broomstick up and smirked at her. "Was that so terrible?"

"I feel ill," she groaned, clutching her stomach. She pulled his cape around her tighter and fixed her hair, saying, "I don't know why you didn't stop sooner - all of these hills look the same."

"Hermione, you should know that some things are better experienced rather than bypassed through Apparition. Besides that, rare plants grow in isolated areas, and to be able to collect them requires being knowledgeable of those areas. It is necessary to be somewhat of a Herbologist to be a Potions master."

"Whoever said I wanted to be a Potions master?" she asked, turning away and looking down at the ground which was covered in thin grasses and scraggly plants. "Now, what does whitlow look like?"

After a slight pause, he explained, "It stands upright on a short stem which is topped by several small white flowers." He stepped away from her and walked up along the steep hillside, leaving the broomstick hanging in the air. His wand was out in front of him, for although the moon was bright it didn't allow them the light necessary to find the elusive plant. "Remember," he said loudly, "the full name of whitlow is 'rock whitlow-grass' because it is generally found in rocky crevices."

After a full twenty minutes of scouring the bleak slopes she found a plant which matched his description and called out, "Is this it?"

Severus slowly walked over and nodded, watching her bend down and pluck half the bunches of flowers. "Leave the rest – it's a rare plant, and it's only just blooming now." He held out a long thin vial which she threaded the stems into. She inquired about his other finds, and he pulled out several other vials, listing off their names as, "Snow Gentian, Alpine Forget-me-nots, and Glaucous Meadow-grass, all very rare and found in very few places other than here. Now, as we have found what we were looking for I think it's time to go."

They mounted the broom and sped away, leaving the ground far below them as Severus smoothly directed their movement into the sky. The return journey felt shorter than the initial voyage had, and was somewhat enjoyable even though Hermione reveled most in the feel of firm floor beneath her feet. He stored the Firebolt in his closet before turning towards her and unfastening the cloak from around her neck.

"Thank you," she mumbled tiredly, walking away from him and into the living room. She noticed as she gathered her belongings that the room still smelled of ash, and she guilty watched as Severus walked past the mess to place the vials on the windowsill above the sink.

"They will dry naturally, and then can be ground for our use," he explained. He then turned to her, running his hand through his hair. "Now, off with you, it is far past time for you to leave." She gave him a small grin and grabbed her things.

He kissed her a little stiffly before she left, not their usual departing frenzy of kisses. She supposed it was the explosion she had caused, even though he had seemed content enough when making her fly across Scotland with him. As she closed the door behind him, she gave a little sigh and shook her head. Sometimes, Severus Snape was still a mystery to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all enjoying this :) I am so pleased with the response I've received, and your comments and kudos make it all so worth it!!!
> 
> When I was editing this a few weeks ago, I happened to be listening to the Cursed Child soundtrack at the same time. When I was reading the part about Hermione and Severus confronting McGonagall, the track that happened to be playing at the time was "McGonagall's Office", which I found to be a funny coincidence! 
> 
> The next song then started playing. It's called "Forbidden Forest", and as I listened to it, I almost wanted to cry. It's so soft and beautiful and tentative, and perfectly encapsulates the very next part of this chapter - when Hermione and Severus acknowledge that yes, they both want this, and they begin to truly fall into each other. Now, I can't listen to that song without thinking about these two. I just wanted to share that with you, as I do love music and feel that it can capture even more than words can.
> 
> Love, Liasis xxx


	8. Over Fifty Years Ago

Hermione was more worried than usual for the end of the year examinations. She usually worked herself into a bundle of raw nerves, but at least she knew that there would be another year for good impressions, another year of studies to make her a better witch. But this year was the final year to prove herself and the pressure was immense.

She had sent an owl to the Ministry for some paperwork concerning internships, and in return received a large packet carried by an eagle-owl. Inside were forms from several different departments that wished to recruit her. Hermione pulled Crookshanks into her lap as she sat on her bed, leafing through the papers. Magical Law Enforcement Squad? She didn't feel like putting herself into the position where she would be risking her life on a daily basis - the Horcrux hunt had made her quite risk adverse. Department of Magical Games and Sports? It wasn't really her thing, and she couldn't possibly take an internship from someone who really would want it. She laid down the papers and sighed. Maybe there would be an opening at Flourish and Blotts for a book specialist. But if she worked in Diagon Alley, she would never see Severus except for on the weekends, and maybe not even then. After weighing her options, she decided upon applying for an internship with the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic. It was the most prestigious opportunity of the lot, and if she didn't enjoy it she could probably transfer into different departments until she found one more suited to her interests.

She needed three recommendations to apply, and quickly considered her options. She would normally have asked McGonagall, but didn't think she would be asking any favors from her for the moment. Professor Flitwick would certainly be most obliged, and Professor Sprout, who had always been very kind to her, was another option. Perhaps Mr. Weasley would be able to put in a word as well. In reality, she didn’t imagine it would be difficult to gain the position considering how well she knew Kingsley, who was now the Minister of Magic.

Hermione placed her chin in her hands and stared out her window. Perhaps she was being silly, naive, a foolish, love-struck girl. But it physically pained her to think of parting from Severus, of living elsewhere. It was inevitable, but it felt almost cruel that their visits would be limited, that she could not wander down the stairs when she was free and knock on his door. No matter how she looked at her options, the thought niggled at her.  _ Where would he fit into all this? _

_. _

_. _

_. _

Several days later, Hermione sat curled up in Severus's lap as they sat on the settee, her head on his shoulder and his hand trailing across her knee as he consoled her. "You mustn't worry. Someone whose talent is as well known as yours will not go unsought."

"Well, I don't know  _ what  _ it is I want to do. If I'm not given any offers and I have to choose for myself... how should I decide?"

"You should feel lucky that your decision was not thrust upon you. Your options are unlimited, especially because of who you are."

She closed her eyes and thought of his childhood. She knew what he meant by his words. She suddenly remembered something, pursed her lips, and frowned. "You promised me you would tell me more about your mother, and you still haven't."

"You hardly seemed interested anymore," he taunted, his fingertips swirling around her kneecap. His black eyes watched her as she grew slightly more frustrated.

She scoffed at him. "Of course I'm interested, I just haven't thought about asking, what with exams and everything."

After a few moments he drew away his hand. "Where is it that you would like to start, then?"

Hermione pulled away and knelt on the cushion, sitting on her heels. "What you do mean?"

"I have collected her memories already, Hermione. In what order would you like to view them?"

She opened her mouth in astonishment. "Now?" she asked.

"Now, if you like." He looked at her, seemingly amused.

"Well, then... from the beginning," she said. 

They both stood up and she followed him into the kitchen, feeling excited and slightly nervous. He took the Pensieve out from a cabinet and placed it upon the table. Severus held her hand, both looking into the others' eyes before they bent over together into the cool liquid.

The first thing Hermione noticed was how blurry the memory was. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, wondering whether it was only her vision, but it remained as foggy as before. Hermione thought that perhaps it meant that the memory was an old one, which it soon proved to be. She sat beside Severus in a compartment in the Hogwarts Express, two little girls with black hair sitting opposite the other and looking out the foggy window. The silence between them was thick, but Hermione assumed that they were both first years – they looked very young – and their thoughts were probably consumed with the Sorting ceremony and the school itself. She wondered if she herself had looked so young on her first trip to Hogwarts.

The train bounced up and down on the tracks a little before settling back to normal, the trees whipping past the windows as they sped through a forest. Hermione watched as the girl on the right, who she now realized was Eileen, sat back in her seat, folded her hands in her lap, and looked over her companion. She was wearing a black wool pea coat and a matching black skirt, black shoes, and grey socks pulled up to her knees. She wasn't very pretty, but rather thin with hair like her son's and thick black eyebrows. The other girl sat back as well, and Hermione faintly recognized her. She was startled when she finally came to the realization that it was Moaning Myrtle, dressed in somewhat shabby Muggle clothes. She looked up at Severus, a questioning look in her eyes, as she thought about it. Myrtle died over 55 years ago – had his mother really been her contemporary?

"What year is it?" she asked.

"1941."

She figured that the age made sense, if it was 1941. Eileen and Myrtle were both 11, so that means Severus's mother would have been... 30 when he was born in 1960.

"I like your shoes," said Eileen, sitting upright and at the edge of her seat.

The bespectacled girl twirled one of her pigtails with her finger, as though slightly cautious about her, and then said, "My name's Myrtle."

"Mine's Eileen," she replied excitedly. "Do you know what house you want to be in, at Hogwarts?"

Myrtle shook her head. "What do you mean, 'house'?"

Eileen was taken aback. "You don't know?"

"I'm the only witch in my family," she said, a little woefully. "My mum and my dad don't know anything about it, and I don't really think that they like it. They told me that the only reason they're letting me come here is because of the war; Professor Dippet told them I would be safe at Hogwarts."

"The Second Great Muggle War?" asked Eileen. "I've heard about that. Is it true Muggles have been killing each other in London?"

"What's a  _ Muggle _ ?" Myrtle asked.

"You know, a person who can't do magic," Eileen explained.

"The Blitz?" Hermione asked, watching Severus nod.

"It had only just ended in May," he said softly, not taking his eyes from the conversation.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You mean you haven't heard what's been going on?"

"Muggles can't fight our wars, so we won't fight theirs."

An awkward silence fell over the compartment, but Eileen quickly said, "Well, I come from a long line of witches and wizards, and they told me everything about Hogwarts. There are four houses, and at the Welcoming Feast we all get sorted into different houses based on the kind of people we are. Gryffindor is where the brave go, and Slytherin is where the ambitious go. Hufflepuff is-"

Myrtle snickered at the name. "Hufflepuff?"

Eileen blushed a little – she didn't see anything wrong with it. "Yes, Hufflepuff. My mum says everyone in it's really nice, but my dad says they're all a bit daft. I want to be in Ravenclaw – they're the intelligent ones. I like to read, and I read a whole lot more this summer just so I could be up to par with the rest of them."

"How do we get sorted? I don't really know which house I'd want to be in, and I wouldn't want to choose incorrectly."

Eileen began explaining about the ceremony when a young witch with square glasses and hair tied back poked her head into the compartment. Hermione had to contain a giggle – Minerva McGonagall was easily recognizable despite the lack of wrinkles and graying hair. "We're approaching the castle soon, and I would advise you change into your robes." Hermione caught the flash of a shiny Prefect's badge as she slid the door shut behind her.

"She's barely changed," she whispered to Severus.

"Authority has always suited her, as much as anything could," he murmured back.

Time had passed, for when she looked back at the girls they had changed into their black robes and were chatting as though they were old friends. The train slowed, the sky outside was black, and Myrtle began twisting her finger around her pigtail again, anxiously.

"Do you... do you want to see something neat?" asked Eileen. By the sound of her voice she was nervous about arriving as well.

"Maybe," Myrtle replied, leaning back into her seat as though afraid of what she meant.

"Well, watch this!" she told Myrtle. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her hair grew longer, of its own accord, and curled in small delicate ringlets at the ends.

"Ooh!" squealed Myrtle in delight. "How come you can do that?"

"My mum told me I'm a Metamorphmagus, which means I can change my appearance when I want. It's not really common," she said, boasting slightly. "But my mum told me not to change my appearance while I'm here. Professor Dippet sent my parents a letter telling them it would be distracting," she said, flattening out her robes and lacing her fingers together.

"Your mother's a  _ Metamorphmagus? _ " Hermione whispered quickly as the train and two girls vanished around them.

Severus looked down at her, out of the corners of his eyes. "I am sure you noticed how different she looked between the time she met my father and when I was born."

"I assumed it was due to her mental health, not-"

"Prince, Eileen," called out a melodic voice which Hermione immediately realized belonged to Dumbledore. He stood in front of the mass of new students, a scroll in his thin hands. He must have been Deputy Headmaster during Dippet's time, and so would have performed the same duties as McGonagall had when she held that position. The Great Hall was lit for the feast, the houses divided into their long tables, ghosts soaring among the clouds, candles hovering above the shining plates and silverware. Hermione discovered the presence of a timid, oversize half-giant sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table on a large stool, and could not help but smile.

Eileen shyly walked through the crowd and sat down, Dumbledore placing the Sorting Hat on her head and waiting for its judgment. Hermione could hear the old hat's words as though it was on her own head, though she was standing against the wall near the Slytherin table.

"Hmm... I can see that you are kind-hearted and curious. Independent as well, yes, and introspective. There is an undercurrent of aspiration to you, and I can feel that you will be working hard to prove yourself here. And the best place for that is... Ravenclaw!" The houses all politely clapped as she, shaking, found her seat.

The Great Hall disappeared and the walls were replaced by gigantic dusty bookshelves. Hermione stood with Severus beside several study tables, and saw both Eileen and Myrtle sitting at one in front of them. They were taking notes from their second year Herbology textbook when a tall boy walked past the table, through Hermione's left shoulder, and towards the back of the library. Eileen looked up and watched him as she continued to write out a few more lines, and Hermione wondered what it was that made him catch her eye. The boy looked around the library to make sure no one was watching him before he darted under the rope and into the Restricted Section. Eileen put down her quill and stood up.

"What's the matter?" asked Myrtle, tearing her eyes from her work.

"Just... going to use the loo," she said, pushing in her chair before quietly walking through the maze of tall bookcases. She pretended to be interested in a lower shelf so that she could peek past the roped-off area, but was unable to see the boy. She decided to find out what he was doing, and darted underneath the cord as he had. She was silently walking down the aisles, intent on finding him, when she froze at the feeling of a wand pressed against the middle of her back.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. She turned quickly and stood with her back against a bookcase to face him. He towered above her, and even though her shock was evident, she also blushed at his proximity and handsomeness.

"You s-shouldn't be here. You don't have a n-note," she stuttered, flattening herself against the wooden shelves.

He dropped his hand to his side and scoffed, "Who are you, the librarian? Besides, you shouldn't be here either."

"W-well, what are  _ you _ doing?" she asked, eyeing his dark green tie and Prefect's badge.

"I'm doing some research, and it would be best for you if you left me alone. I could easily report you," he said coolly.

"What are you researching?" She didn't seem wavered by his threats, and instead became more obstinate.

"What is your name?" he questioned, pulling away from her.

"Eileen."

His hand went up to his neatly combed hair to flatten it even more. "Are you a pure-blood?" She nodded, and he looked over her with a scrutinizing glance. "Has any of your family been in Slytherin house?"

"My father and my grandfather both were Slytherins, although I'm not sure about the rest of my family."

He looked her over again with his cold dark eyes, as though making a difficult decision. "Perhaps I will tell you, someday."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"You swear?" he mocked harshly, pacing the dark carpet of the library. "You mustn't get into the habit of swearing to things you couldn't even begin to understand." She felt rather uncomfortable with his severity and the tone of superiority he took with her, but what angered her most was that he was so quick to belittle her intelligence.

"I may only be a second year, but I'm smarter than half your Slytherin lot," she retorted, standing up straighter, turning to leave.

"Perhaps you would be able to help me after all." He waited until he had her full attention before adding, "However, you cannot tell anyone about what we discuss."

"I promise," she said quickly, unsure what it was that made her want to help him. He  _ was  _ rather handsome, but it was more than that. He was an older student – a  _ Prefect _ – who could use her help, and the thought filled her with pride.

"I am searching for something that Salazar Slytherin has left in the school," he explained, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stood half a foot from her. "You do know what his symbol is, don't you?"

"A snake," she answered, as though being drilled.

"Yes, very good. A wizard – a powerful one – will always mark places of importance with his own symb-"

"Tom, what are you doing here?" Severus and Hermione, who were intently watching them, turned quickly to see Minerva walking in their direction. Eileen felt the boy reach his hand around her wrist and, for one fleeting moment, thought he would pull her to run.

However, he stepped away from her, her arm now outstretched, and said, "Ah, Minerva. I had just found her hiding in here and was about to deduct points for this misbehavior."

Eileen opened her mouth in shock, turned red, and pried her hand from his. "I did not-"

"No need for you to do so, Tom." Minerva's voice was thick with obvious hatred towards the boy who seemed rather pleased with himself. "Five points will be taken from Ravenclaw. Leave this area at once, and do not return unless you have a note signed by a professor. Do you understand?"

Eileen nodded and left without looking up at either of the Prefects. As she left the room Severus slowly turned to Hermione and said, "We shall save more for another time," pulling them both out of the Pensieve and into his chambers.

"Your mother knew of Voldemort, when he was here?" she asked in disbelief.

"More than knew of," he responded, putting the basin away. "There is much more to see, but you will have to restrain yourself until tomorrow. Now-"

"She was also a Metamorphmagus – why didn't you tell me? And I can't believe Myrtle... and McGonagall, too!"

"Yes, Hermione, I am fully aware," he drawled, lighting the fireplace with his wand. "However, as I said before, some things must be  _ shown  _ to be understood. I could not simply tell you that the Dark Lord had enlisted my mother to help him find Salazar Slytherin's hidden chamber – you would have failed to understand her innocent motives. Many people were easily swayed by his words, professors and students alike." He walked towards his armchair and she followed him, watching as he stood behind it and placed his hands on the back. He looked away from her and into the grate of the fireplace. "It is rather late, and therefore you need not leave. If you like, you can sleep here tonight." His dark eyes settled on hers.

It was an invitation she hadn't been fully prepared for, however she nodded. "Of course," she replied, wondering why tonight would have been the first time he would have let her sleep on his settee again, the first time since she had been unwell.

"I can summon your things; your bags should be down soon enough." He flicked his wand towards the door and then left her standing behind the settee as he entered his bedroom.

She climbed over the back of the sofa and plopped down on the cushions. She closed her eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the hissing of the shower. A while later the door to the dungeons swung open as her bags floated into the room and settled on the stone floor. Hermione stood up and closed the door, noticing as she did that Severus had finished his shower and stood at the threshold to his bedroom in a grey nightshirt.

"Is the bathroom free?" asked Hermione, leaning down to pick up her belongings.

"Of course," he answered. As she walked towards him, she drank in the sight of him in his nightshirt. Despite the period of time they had been together, Hermione had never seen him dressed in anything other than his customary black robes, not since the night of the battle. To see his calves exposed, his knees, the very start of his thighs covered in fine black hair, was tantalizing. She stopped to stand beside him, reaching up to kiss him softly, and then left to enter his bathroom.

She took a quick shower, enjoying the pressure of the hot water on her back and shoulders. All of the fixtures in his bathroom were rather old but of good quality, the shower-head broad and the shower itself spacious. There was a small sconce above the bathtub which flickered with light, but otherwise the small room was dark and peaceful. She dried her hair with a quick spell, put on her red nightdress, and left the bathroom.

Hermione closed the door behind her and made to leave the bedroom when Severus asked quietly, "Where are you going?" He was reading in bed, the candle on the bedside table lit and a space to his left on the bed. A space for her.

Speechless, she placed her bags on the floor, tucked them neatly against the wall, and walked up to the side he had designated as hers.  _ Hers _ . She pulled away the smooth black covers and slid in, lying down against the pillows and turning to face him. He had watched her, smirked as she looked up at him, and then turned to his book again. 

_ Only Severus Snape could have a woman slip into his bed and pretend as though nothing of great importance had happened _ , she thought. She brushed her fingers along his arm and closed her eyes, in disbelief that she was lying there. He turned a page, and she could feel him rearranging his legs under the sheets.

Hermione yawned and pulled the covers to her neck, exhilarated beyond words but still exhausted from a long day of classes. After a time Severus closed his book and blew out the candle, and Hermione felt his arms wrap around her torso as he turned on his side. He peppered her face with kisses as she smiled, her knees touching his. His fingers traced the length of her arm and then moved up to her bushy hair, running through it and pushing it away from her face. 

She did the same with his mess of black hair, resting her palm on the back of his forearm while burying her face in his chest. She could barely hear her thoughts above the beating of her heart. How could he possibly expect her to sleep? And yet, in the warm comfort of his arms, it was not long before she nodded off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this bit, it was quite a while ago - back either before Minerva’s full timeline was nailed down or when it was still a bit dubious, and certainly before the whole Crimes of Grindewald debacle. Considering that Minerva is not to play a huge part in this story, and the fact that the filmmakers have taken their own creative license for Minerva’s age, I will too place her in time where she works best for my story. It will be the only time I blatantly flout canon, as the canon seems basically already flouted with Minerva McGonagall!


	9. Foes and Friends

Hermione rolled over in bed after waking from a particularly jolting dream. She listened for Severus's breathing but didn't hear it, and a search for his body with her hand proved fruitless, the sheets cool. She sat up and got out of bed – perhaps he was in the living room? She took her wand from the bedside table and held it in front of her for light. Maybe he hadn't been able to sleep? He wasn't there, and Hermione began to worry a little. Why would he just leave her in the middle of the night?

She sighed and walked back into the bedroom, placing her wand on the table before climbing back into the sheets. After lying on her side for a while she heard the door creak open, click shut, and then watched as he walked into the bedroom. He placed his wand on the table and slid into bed, making an effort not to disturb her. When he had settled in beside her, Hermione ran her hand along the buttons which lined the front of his nightshirt.

"Where have you been?" she asked, confused.

He turned on his side and frowned. "I didn't wake you when I came in, did I?"

"No, I woke up and you weren't here. Where did you go?"

Their faces were only a few centimeters apart, and as she played with his buttons he brushed his thumb along the side of her cheek, cupping her jaw with his palm. "Minerva appointed me to patrol the corridors."

"Oh." She paused. "Do all professors have to?"

He gave a single mocking laugh. "Of course not. Minerva herself will only patrol four times a month. The rest of the nights are divided between myself and whoever else she is disapproving of at the moment." She frowned and then yawned a little, causing Severus to draw away and murmur gently, "Best we both get some sleep."

Hermione nodded and curled up next to him, and as he turned onto his back she placed her hand on his stomach, feeling it rise and fall. He gently placed his hand to rest on hers. She didn't fall asleep as easily as he did, and listened to his soft snores and even breathing for a long time.

.

.

.

Hermione turned over in the morning and heard Severus groan as he woke up too. They both yawned, and she watched as he ran his hands through his hair and then stretched his arms. She nearly laughed - it was so strange to see Severus Snape yawning. It was such a simple thing, but still so odd for her to see him at his most human.

"Did you sleep well?" His voice was thicker, deeper, than usual.

"Yes, fine." She blushed, watching his fingers going to his hair again, and she caught a glimpse of something dark just below the edge of his sleeve.

She slowly sat up, looked into his eyes as if for permission, and then reached for his left hand, which he hesitantly gave to her. She pulled his arm into her lap and slowly pushed back the fabric. Hermione had never seen his forearm so close, and she stared at the nearly translucent skin and bright blue veins underneath. With her fingers, she delicately traced his Dark Mark, which had dulled into a bruise-like, sickly green scar. She felt a tingle of fear run up her spine. She could hear Tom Riddle's words in her head. _ A wizard – a powerful one – will always mark places of importance with his own symbol. _

He sat up and took a hold of her left wrist with his left hand, slowly turning her arm over as she had turned over his. There, in thin white scars, spelled, "Mudblood."

His reaction was visceral, as though he might be sick. "I had forgotten... Bellatrix?" he muttered. He remembered her manic fury at their escape, and her fierce pride in having at least 'made my mark on the girl.'

"With a knife," Hermione explained, trying to forget what it had been like - the hard floor under her back, the stink of Bellatrix's breath, the excruciating point of the blade as it sliced through her skin... She shivered. "And this, here," she said, lifting her head slightly and placing the tip of her index finger against a thin red line which ran along the right side of her neck.

He bent closer, pushing her hair back so that he could inspect the neat mark so close to her throat, his fingers brushing lightly against it. There could not have been many that had had Bellatrix Lestrange's knife pressed to their neck who had lived to tell the tale. His attention returned to her forearm. He closed his eyes and ran his thumb over the marks. "I could try... there might be a poultice that could fade-"

"No," she interrupted, watching his eyes open. "Thank you, but no. I'm not... it doesn't bother me anymore."

He stared at her, his gaze heavy before he nodded and bent to kiss her once more.

They left the bed and tucked the covers under the pillows. Hermione changed into a set of simple black robes. Even though it was the weekend, she couldn't imagine wearing anything remotely Muggle-like around Severus.

After she had brushed her teeth and hair she opened the door of the bathroom to find him buttoning up a white collared shirt. She was sure that Severus Snape would wear the same outfit every day, no matter the occasion. Hermione went out and sat on the settee, and before long he was making tea for both of them.

He sat down in his armchair and watched her, noticing her furrowed brow and thin mouth. "You seem worried," he said, frowning, concerned that he had upset her earlier.

She sipped her sweetened white tea and nodded. "I am. I still don't know what I'm going to do about leaving... here. It's just difficult to imagine myself somewhere else, is all." She looked away, studying the small bookcase next to the fireplace. "I did submit an application for an internship with Shacklebolt's Junior Assistant just a few days ago."

"They almost surely will offer you the position." He paused, and asked delicately, "If they did, would you accept it?"

"I'm not sure."

He furrowed his brow. "What would be stopping you?"

The silence hung between them for a long time, her brown eyes looking into his. "You  _ know  _ what would be stopping me." He looked away and ran his fingers along his chin in thought.

"Perhaps I could offer you something here, with me... I had thought of it before - but you showed such active disinterest that I quickly let go of the idea."

"Active disinterest?" she asked. She now faced him fully, perched on the edge of her seat. "I don't recall ever-"

"When we were out collecting whitlow," he began in an elevated tone, before lowering his voice, "you made it quite clear you weren't interested in any sort of position concerning potion-making. If I can remember the exact words correctly, they were, 'Whoever said I wanted to be a Potions master?'"

Her face went white. "Well, I wasn't in a very good mood that evening, considering you made me ride on a  _ broomstick  _ across Scotland in the middle of the night when it was  _ freezing  _ outside." He pressed his lips together in a fashion that was altogether McGonagall-esque. "I shouldn't have said it – I really didn't mean it. But even if I did take the position, won't it be a little suspect when people start asking questions about us? 'Why did you choose him as your mentor? What sparked your interest in Potions? How could you possibly enjoy being in the company of Professor Snape for any length of time?' They'll certainly know we're together, everyone would know..."

Severus stood up and paced in front of the fireplace. "Hermione, you couldn't be so naive as to think that two people haven't been in our situation before."

She looked down, embarrassed. "Everyone knows who I am. Everyone knows who you are. It isn’t so simple..."

He ran his hands through his hair before placing them on the arm of the settee, looking down at her. "Did you not think of this before telling me you cared for me? Did you not think that one day, at some point, our relationship would be common knowledge?" His face suddenly looked taut. "You sound as though you are ashamed of it."

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I just... I wasn't sure how  _ you _ would feel." She paused. "You don't mind then, everyone knowing?"

He looked down at her. "I was not going to publicly announce our relationship, no, but when I told you that I was sure I wanted to be together, I knew what that inherently entailed. I knew that eventually, word would spread. We cannot stay a secret forever, Hermione."

She bit her bottom lip and thought for a few minutes that were heavy with silence. "Where... where would I live?"

"In a castle the size of Hogwarts, room and board will not be difficult to come by, although I imagine it would require approval from Minerva.”

Hermione looked up at him impatiently. Didn't he know that all she wanted in the world was him? "What work can a Potions master find?" she asked quietly.

"There are many possible paths. Research, Healing, Ministry work if nothing else." After another silence, he sat down beside her. "You still seem upset."

She shook her head without looking at him. "No, no… It's just, I never saw myself in that field because I assumed it was something you needed a natural knack for, which I don't know that I have."

"You have made a fair amount of progress the past several months with my guidance. I am certain that, given time, your capabilities would flourish." He stood up again, uncharacteristically restless. "However, I will not accept you if you do not truly believe that your future lies within the realm of Potions. A career should be chosen based upon a combination of both skills and interests, and not because someone expects it of you."

"Well, I..." For some reason, she could not speak.

"I will retract my offer, in that case." He gulped down the rest of his tea and walked towards the kitchen.

Hermione stood up, her heart sitting at the bottom of her stomach, and she knew in that moment that she had been waiting for this very offer for the longest time. Why did she  _ always  _ let her fear of being wrong get in the way? She said loudly, "But you can't! I want... I want to accept it." And she knew it was true. He, who could draw out the very best she had to offer, who kept her on her toes, who did not treat her as though she was so advanced that she had little left to learn, would be second to none as her instructor.

"Sit down, Hermione."

She did not sit, but instead walked up to him and drew herself up to her full height, her brown eyes burning into his dark ones. "I  _ am _ sure. I want to be your apprentice, more than anything."

He unexpectedly placed one of his hands beneath her jaw, running his thumb over her chin. "You are  _ sure _ ?" he asked, the corner of his lip curling upwards.

Hermione nodded, her lips breaking into a grin. "Yes, yes I am."

He pressed his nose to her forehead and kissed the space between her eyebrows, his other hand going to gently sit on her waist. "Deciding your future is not easy; we must commemorate the occasion. Would you dine with me this evening? Somewhere other than Hogwarts, of course."

Dinner - a date - with Severus Snape? Hermione's stomach was bubbling over with pleasure, anxiety, and disbelief. "I - I'd love to." She didn't think she would ever be able to speak correctly when he kissed her, and she smiled as his soft, warm lips touched hers. He allowed her to wrap her arms around him, and he reciprocated lightly.

After she let go he placed a hand upon the work table, the wood creaking under his weight. His eyes drifted from hers to the clock upon the mantelpiece, then back. "Perhaps we can spend some more time with my mother's memories before you leave for the afternoon?"

"Yes, of course," she responded, her mind buzzing with the thoughts of her future, a smile still splayed across her lips. 

She watched as he retrieved the Pensieve again, setting it upon the table and pouring the white, glowing contents of a couple vials into the black liquid. They stood shoulder to shoulder as they bent over together, falling forward and into the past.

Eileen sat in the library at her usual table, tucked between a large window offering a view of the lake and separated from the Restricted Section by a few bookcases. A small ladybug was lying on its back on the wooden table in front of her, and she poked it with her wand to see if it was still alive. It waved its legs around frantically, hoping for some purchase, and stopped when Eileen quickly withdrew. She twisted her wand and the ladybug flew up into the air and fell back to the table with a clatter – it had been transfigured into a pin. However, a pair of antennae still wiggled around near where the head had been, and she sighed deeply.

Hermione noticed Tom Riddle out of the corner of her eye. He had been watching Eileen for some time, and he took the chance in the deserted library to surprise her. Hermione looked on as Tom quietly walked between the bookshelves and then stepped out, sitting down in the chair opposite Eileen and dropping the books he had in his arms on the table, causing her to jump in her seat.

"Don’t you  _ ever  _ leave the library?" he asked, his mocking tone thinly veiled.

"I could ask you the same," she retorted, crossing her arms and frowning.

He smirked at her. "I don't know what I did to make you so angry with me."

"You know perfectly well," she grumbled. Her gaze went from his eyes to his Slytherin tie and then to the books he had been reading. _Magick Moste Evile_. _The Lost Legacy._ _Salazar Slytherin: His Philosophy and its Application._ They all appeared as though they belonged in the Restricted Section.

"What's a handful of house points in the grand scheme of things? If I hadn't acted quickly, Minerva would have questioned us incessantly. It was better to get her out of our hair." He seemed quite pleased with himself, his gaze fixed on her. "I do, however, have a question for you. You seem well read. Are you familiar with the legend of this school?"

She shook her head, looking at him with mistrust. "The legend? Do you mean the four founders?"

"In part. You must have heard of the dispute between Salazar Slytherin and the rest?"

"Of course," she responded impatiently. "I'm not a dolt."

He paused, the silence heavy between them. He lowered his voice, "Then, of course, you will have heard Slytherin did not leave without first ensuring one day his wishes had the potential of being filled… that he had built a chamber in the heart of the school, one which has eluded discovery for centuries?"

She looked at him, an odd look on her face. Clearly, she had not heard of this before.

"Now," he began, reaching into his school bag, "I have written everything that I've learned about Slytherin and the chamber in this journal." Hermione recognized the leather-bound volume at once. It was - or would become - a Horcrux, the diary that had possessed Ginny. "I just need to find out where it is."

"Why?"

"To enter it, of course," he said, rolling his eyes at her and flattening his hair. "I had hoped you would have wanted to solve a mystery that is at the very foundation of Hogwarts." He paused, looking around to see if anyone was nearby. His eyes eerily looked right into Hermione's before he continued, "Now, I had assumed Slytherin would have built a chamber leading to the common room of his potential heirs, but had no luck when I looked for it. It's difficult to search the entire school, and besides, there are places where the entrance may be that I cannot enter... such as the Ravenclaw common room." He looked at her meaningfully.

"I... I can't promise anything," Eileen mumbled, knowing now why he had approached her. He simply needed a Ravenclaw, any Ravenclaw, to check their common room for an entrance. The idea of a hidden chamber did interest her, however if people had been searching for centuries with no luck she felt that he was being fairly optimistic of his own abilities to discover it. "I highly doubt he would have connected his chamber to the common room of the students of someone who directly disagreed with him." She paused, thinking, looking away from him. "I'm not sure how I would know what I was looking for, in any case." Eileen took the strange creature she had transfigured and slipped it into her pocket, standing up and gathering her things to leave.

"Your name is Eileen, right? Eileen Prince?" he asked, bending towards her. She paused a moment and nodded, wondering what would even cause him to think about that. He tried his best to grin, but could only pull off a strange sort of leer. "You seem more like a  _ Princess  _ to me."

Hermione could tell he was lying through his teeth, and not even well, but it did have its intended effect on Eileen. She began to blush profusely. She bit her bottom lip but, as though he had never said anything, she turned on her heel and left.

Tom Riddle faded from view and was replaced by Eileen, again studying by herself in the same spot she had before. She looked up, a puzzled expression on her face, towards the back of the library. Hermione couldn't see anything and instead listened closely, hearing what distinctly sounded like someone sniffling. Eileen stood up and walked down the aisle of bookcases cautiously, curious but not interested in any more trouble for herself. Hermione and Severus both walked close behind. Eileen peered around the corner before stepping towards a very large boy, his hands covering his face as he cried in a corner formed by two massive bookcases.

"Are... are you all right?" she asked, although he didn't hear her above his bawling. "Are you all right?" she repeated, a little louder.

He put his hands down immediately as though caught in a terrible act, his face wet with tears and his small eyes red.

"What's your name?" she asked kindly, seeing that he was obviously quite upset.

"R-Rubeus H-H-Hagrid," he blubbered. It was strange for Hermione to see Hagrid so young and without his trademark substantial facial hair, but he was still instantly recognizable.

"No, no, don't worry – I won't tell anyone you're crying." She knelt down next to him, pulling a handkerchief out of her blouse and handing it to him. Hermione noticed his hands were already massive, and even though he was sitting on the floor – no seats seemed large enough for him to sit in to study – he was still much taller than Eileen. "Are you all right?"

He blew his nose and she gestured for him to keep the handkerchief when he tried to hand it back. "It's jus' - it's jus' - I'm failin' me classes an' me dad wouldn've liked ter see me fail." Unfortunately, he didn't realize that he had been tearing up the little white square as he spoke, and now tatters of cloth lay on his robes.

"He 'wouldn't' have liked?" she asked

"'e died a few months ago, me dad did. 'e was goin' ter get me a pet fer my birthday, in December. My firs' birthday without 'im, an' I - I - I'm jus' not doin' well with me classes," he blubbered on, his words difficult to distinguish in his grief.

Eileen had a frown on her face and Hermione, who was standing between her and Hagrid, saw tears forming in her eyes. "Do you know what kind of pet?"

"Er, no. An owl, or cat, or summat o' the sort. Always fancied dragons, though."

She looked as though she was thinking, and she said, "You know, there are lots of books about dragons here, in the library."

"Really?"

Eileen nodded and said, "Hold on, I'll go get some." She quickly returned with several books in her arms and pulled up a chair alongside Hagrid. "Look,  _ Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland _ ." He seemed to light up, and it was quite a sight to see the abnormally large half-giant sitting on the ground, peering over the shoulder of the comparatively minuscule Eileen, the book open in her lap. Dragons zoomed on and off of the pages, breathing fire and making spectacular swoops over forests and alongside mountains. Eileen seemed rather pleased with herself for calming him down. "I'm only a second year, but I've heard that Professor Kettleburn is really quite nice. Do you like his class?" He nodded, and she suggested, "Perhaps you could ask him if he needed any help taking care of the animals."

"D'yeh think 'e needs help?"

"I'm sure he would. And I can help you study for your classes, if you like."

"Aren' yeh a secon' year?"

"I am, but I could still try and help. I don't think the third year curriculum is too different from ours. And sometimes, you just need a friend to help you."

Hagrid smiled and his little black eyes watered with tears. "I'm gonna go an' talk ter Kettleburn righ' now." He got to his feet, a little top-heavy and swaying precariously as he tried to catch his balance. "Thanks... er... what's yer name?"

"Eileen," she said, standing up and replacing the chair from the table she had borrowed it from. "It was nice to meet you, Rubeus. I hope you feel better."

He turned to leave but suddenly stopped. He looked back down at her, held his arms open, and said, "I was jus' wonderin' if I could... er..." He doubled over and hugged her as gently as he could manage, and Hermione smiled at how sweet he was and the comical way that Eileen couldn't get her arms around him any more than she would have been able to embrace a tree trunk. Hagrid stood up straight and still sniffled a little as he left, his cheeks slightly pink and the dragon book clutched tightly in his hand.

"That's enough for today," Severus said, taking her hand and pulling them out of the Pensieve.

She began to protest but they were already back in his chambers. "But we only saw two!"

"Don't be impish," he reprimanded, dropping her hand.

"Don't be in such a mood. Your mother was so adorable," she said, teasing him and watching him wave his wand to gather her things, a smirk on his face.

"And so are you," he said, directing her to the door. "You've spent enough of your day with me; you must be hungry. Perhaps you should find something to eat, and I will meet you in the courtyard at eight o'clock tonight." She nodded, leaned in to give him a kiss, and left for her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - I've been away for a few weeks. I'll be updating more regularly going forward :)  
> Liasis xx


	10. Decadence

Hermione walked down the marble staircase and into the empty Entrance Hall, past several closed doors, and slipped quietly outside. She wore a long black traveling cloak clasped at her neck with a brooch, a cover in case she had run into anyone on the way down. She could see Severus's outline against the dusky sky, his hands clasped together behind his back as he looked out onto the grounds. He turned around at the sound of her heels softly clacking against the stone and walked towards her, passing the trees and archways which dotted the courtyard. His hair was tidy, his eyes wandering from her face down to her heels, and she noticed that his outfit had remained the same except for the substitution of a white necktie in place of the usual black. It had little effect to his overall appearance, but to Hermione it meant the world that he would have – even for a moment – thought about what he should look like, for her.

"Miss Granger," he said, bowing his head slightly in her direction and taking her arm. Hermione pretended to be interested in the sinking half-moon which hung over the lake, but truthfully had turned her head so she could smile unabashedly.

Her heels sunk a little into the damp earth as they walked down to the gates together, passing Hagrid's brightly lit cabin and the empty Quidditch pitch to their left. It wasn't an easy walk with the wind blowing, the branches of the forest eerily thrashing and creaking. The wind whipped their hair around their faces, which peeved Hermione slightly because of the effort she had put into taming her mass of curls beforehand. Severus pulled out his wand and began muttering a complicated series of rescinding charms, motioning for the great gates to open when he had finished. They passed the twin statues of the winged boar and Hermione waited as he re-established protection upon the entrance.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his hand on hers. Before she could nod, she already felt the unsettling nausea which accompanied Apparition. When she opened her eyes, she saw that they were standing in a fairly busy lane reminiscent of Diagon Alley. Groups of witches and wizards strolled past and bells clanged as doors opened and closed. She noticed a specialty hat shop named Tips and Don, several cafés, and Chiznell's Capes. Severus steered her past a fountain of golden water which shot up from the ground like a geyser.

"Where are we?" she asked, puzzled.

"Gnomick Alley, in Edinburgh." He led her into a restaurant, its entrance a slim, nearly hidden door.

"May I take your cloak?" asked the host, a well-dressed blond man in his twenties. Hermione slid the thick fabric off from around her shoulders and could see Severus drinking her in, struggling slightly not to grin from pleasure. She was wearing a green, knee-length silk cocktail dress which hugged her body perfectly. The waiter lead them to their table, and Hermione's first thought was that if any place could be "Snape-ish," this one was. It was an intimate setting with many small rooms and only several tables in each one. The walls were brick, inset with several fireplaces above which sat mantles decorated with cauldrons and bottles of all sizes and colors. Portraits of old men who wore white neck ruffs and black hats adorned with feathers hung above the various pieces of wizarding equipment.

After the specials had been listed and a bottle of champagne brought to the table, Severus leaned closer to her. "You are beautiful," he said, watching her turn red and sip from the yellow liquid. "Please, order whatever you like - this is my treat."

"You needn't-"

"No, of course I needn't - but I want to," he explained, looking up at her from under his heavy brow.

She reached for his hand under the white tablecloth and held it tightly.

"Thank you," she said, "for the apprenticeship, and for tonight. It was very... kind of you," she said carefully, unsure as to whether he would want to be characterized in that way.

He smirked slightly before threading his fingers through hers and saying, "Thank you for accepting my offer."

She ordered the duck with blueberry sauce, and he the roast lamb. They ate their starters, listening to the clinking of knives and forks against plates and the light chatter issuing from the other rooms. Hermione enjoyed being out among other people. She had spent such a long time away from the outside world that she had nearly forgotten it existed. This was also the first time that she and Severus had appeared in public together, and it felt something akin to a declaration of their relationship, despite the fact neither of them seemed to be recognized.

After Hermione had finished her salad, she asked, "What is the duration of an apprenticeship, generally?"

Severus sat back in his wooden chair and crossed his arms. "It depends on the trade. Becoming a Potions master requires the student to pass a lengthy examination testing your ability to recognize, neutralize, or create any number of potions, as well as identifying ingredients and knowing the history behind several of the more famous brews. The duration of your education will depend on when you feel comfortable taking the assessment. The average apprentice takes nearly five years, although I am certain you will not require that amount of time."

The main courses arrived, and Hermione savored the richness of the duck and the sweet blueberries which complimented it. The cooking at Hogwarts was excellent, but it was always soured with the thought of who had made it. She had Severus try some of the food on her plate, and he in turn sliced some lamb for her. He asked about her classes and she asked about his as they drank their champagne. She was even rewarded with one of his extraordinarily rare grins, even though it only flitted across his face for a moment. Everything about the evening – the food, the drink, the conversation – had been decadent, tasteful to the very last detail.

The waiter came to clear their plates and Severus handed him a small black drawstring bag. Hermione could tell from the clinking noise it made that it held metal coins. She took one last sip of her champagne and they left, walking out into the deserted alleyway. It was cooler than before and she drew her long cloak around her, every nerve tingling.

"Look at how bright the stars are!" she exclaimed quietly, peering up into the black sky.

"They'll be brighter when we leave the city," he replied. "Are you ready to go?" She nodded and for a moment wished she hadn't eaten such a rich dinner. However, the rushing ended quickly and the only thing she could feel was Severus's arm linked with hers.

"I can't get over the stars," she said to herself. The castle's lights glowed in the distance, and she smiled as she realized that it would still be her home for several years to come. A Thestral swooped overhead, the pair listening as it hooted and flew out of sight. They approached the castle and snuck inside, down into the dungeons. Hermione stumbled a little, giggling at herself. "Oh, my feet hurt terribly - I'm not used to heels!"

"Let me help you off of them, in that case." He picked her up and she laughed, hooking her legs around his back and grinning as his lips caressed her throat. He wandlessly opened his door, shut it behind them, and sat her on the table, the wood creaking underneath her weight. He stood in front of her, his head bent to hers, and he ran his hands along her white thighs, stroking the dark green silk of her dress. She pressed her mouth to his and let the black cloak she wore fall from her frame.

"Hermione," he said, his voice hoarse but quiet as he ran his hands along her back. "Wait here." She nodded and folded her hands in her lap, her ankles crossed, as he opened his icebox. Severus rummaged through it then walked up to her, handing her a glass vial filled with a clear liquid.

"What is it?" she asked, holding it curiously.

"A contraceptive," he responded. She paused, entirely shocked that he would have planned, that he would have thought that tonight would be the night... He quickly added, "But you needn't – that is, if you don't want to-"

She had never, ever seen him so nervous, and even though it stunned her it was also endearing. She ran her hand along his chest, unable to count the number of times she had wanted to revisit what lay beneath, the texture of the muscle, the color of the skin... The only other time she had seen it had been the day of the attack, when she had wiped his blood from his skin. It felt like years had passed since then. His black eyes scanned her face for her expression, watching and hoping that she wouldn't be angry, repulsed. The cork made a small popping sound as she pulled it out. After she drank the bitter potion she handed the empty glassware back to Severus, feeling his hand cover hers. It was shaking slightly.

"It takes a few minutes to have an effect," he said. She nodded, still speechless. "If you like I could make some tea, or perhaps-"

She lifted her right hand to his mouth to silence him. She then sifted through his hair, slowly moving her hand and pressing her fingers to the back of his head, causing him to lean forward, his lips eagerly meeting hers. His mouth on hers did something that she could not describe, and knowing that he wanted her in this way intensified every sensation. His hands went to her arms, her back, his fingertips running along her bare skin causing her to shiver. They broke away, his dark eyes boring into hers, and she could see the desire in them. It was almost too much for her.

They came together again, his mouth on hers and her hands running up and down his chest, flitting across the soft fabric of his white necktie and then undoing it at a leisurely pace. She drew away the silk fabric, carefully laying it on the worktable behind her, Severus's left hand at the small of her back and his right on her cheek. Her hands returned to his neck, and she gently touched the mottled red and white skin with her slender fingers. Those scars were remnants of the wounds she had healed, reminders of the life that he almost lost, the sheer evil which had torn apart the lives of so many, but had not entirely destroyed his.

She gently pulled away from his kiss and placed her hands flat on his chest, smoothing the fabric before raising her fingertips to the very top button of his jacket. He watched her face as she slid a nail under the loop, pulling it up and over the button, and began going down the line, each time exposing slightly more and more of his white shirt. He watched her, noting her concentration but also how her hands slightly shook in anticipation. Severus caressed the soft fullness of her brown hair, then reached down and helped her by working up from the bottom.

As they finished she pushed the front of the coat off of his shoulders, and he pulled his arms out of the sleeves, his eyes never leaving hers, as he now moved forward to lean over her. Hermione drank in the sight of him, his white tailored shirt tucked into his slim dress trousers, and realized how lithe he was, how utterly smart he looked in these clothes. And despite that, she also wanted those very clothes removed as soon as possible.

She moved to the top button of his shirt, undoing this one much more quickly and again with Severus's help. Her hands were already rushing along his chest before he had even successfully taken it off. His chest was a little different than she remembered, warmer than she had supposed, his shoulders slightly wider than his waist. She noticed marks upon his body that she had not seen that first time - a birthmark on his shoulder, another under his ribs, a scar under his right nipple. There was a light smattering of hair upon his chest, and she ran her fingers through it, then along his shoulders, arms, and down to his wrists. Her fingers lightly skimmed over his Dark Mark but she did not want to draw attention to it, not tonight.

"You are beautiful," he said, running his fingers across her cheek and through the tangles of her hair. He caught her eyes and stared into them lovingly, as if he wanted to drink in this sight and never forget it. "You are  _ beautiful _ ," he repeated. He kissed her deeply before lifting her off the table, carrying her the distance to his bedroom, and sitting her down on his bed.

He wandlessly lit the candle on his bedside table, stepped out of his shoes, and then joined her on the bed. Hermione moved to where she had slept last night and lied down on her side, letting him lie down beside her, wrap her in his arms, and kiss every part of her he could manage. Her hands felt their way around his back as well, feeling the muscles of his neck and shoulders strain as he moved. She smiled and giggled quietly at the tickle of his hair against her throat.

Hermione felt Severus's hand run up the length of her back, and then begin to tug at her zipper. She gasped a little and closed her eyes, suddenly losing her wits and feeling paralyzed.

Severus pulled away at the sound of her gasp. "Hermione, what's wrong?" She couldn't speak properly, she was so frightened completely out of her senses. She had never really cared for her body and now it was going to be entirely exposed to him. Surely every lump would disgust him... How could he stand the sight of her thick thighs, her hips which were wider than his? She was sure her movements would be awkward and out of sync with his. She had never done this before. "Have you never...?"

"No." She could hear her heart beating in her ears. "And you?"

"It's been quite a long time," he said simply, whispering, "If you don't want to - we can stop."

She gulped. "No, I'm just nervous," she whispered back, giving a little half laugh, feeling ridiculous. God, she wanted him, and she did not want to stop.

He nodded and murmured, "All right - just relax." His hand moved away from her zipper and instead ran along her side, down the smooth silk of her dress and back up to her cheek. She marveled at the intent look on his face as he studied her body, his handsome lips, his heavy brow, and felt his hand on her cheek, the fingertips pushing slightly to position her lips under his. She turned her head to face him and shifted her entire body so that she was pressed against his, one hand moving to his back, her fingertips rushing over his skin. His hips shifted so that they pressed against hers, and she could feel his member pushing against his trousers, insistent. At this she moaned his name, suddenly beside herself with desire. Her insides were burning for him, for something that she had never had before.

His kisses came on stronger and his hand was back at her zipper, tugging slowly until her back was fully exposed. She extricated herself from him, pushing the straps of her dress down past her arms, then shimmied out of the dress indelicately, pulling it down past her feet and letting it fall on the floor.

His arms were around her again, his nose pressing against her ear. "Your skin is so soft," he remarked, his fingers circling along her shoulder blades and then diving down to her lower back. She reveled in the feel of the skin of his stomach, his arms, his chest against hers. Severus began to kiss down her neck, her collarbone, and then the top of her bust. He reached behind her, undid the clasp, and gently pulled the bra away, letting it fall onto the floor with the dress.

He was breathing shallowly now and moved lower, his mouth gently finding her breast, kissing and swirling his tongue around the nipple intermittently. Hermione gasped, her left hand playing with his hair. His hand stroked her ribcage and then moved to her other breast, cupping it and running his fingers over it lightly, looking at her wordlessly as though he wanted to memorize this. He found the rope-like scar that traversed her stomach from her right hip bone up to underneath her left breast and kissed it, not paying it any more heed than the birthmark next to her bellybutton, which he kissed, and a mole which sat above her left hip bone, which he kissed as well.

Severus's mouth moved onto hers with a fervor that she matched. He touched his nose to hers before moving to the side of the bed, standing up and removing his black trousers. She sat up and helped him, running her fingers along his white thighs which were covered with fine black hairs. A thin trail ran from his navel to his black undergarments, which she noticed he was in the process of removing as well. Severus now sat on the edge of the bed fully naked, his eyes searching hers, and Hermione's heart was in her mouth. The thought of what was about to happen did not frighten her now. It simply thrilled her to see his desire for her expressed in this way, for what it was and what it meant. This was ultimate trust - to have him before her, nothing to obscure the sight of his body from her. She decided that it was her turn to gratify him.

Now slightly braver, she left the bed and knelt down beside his knees. She ran her fingers down his legs, noticing several deep white scars on his right thigh and calf which, she realized with a shock, must have been caused by Fluffy’s bite. It always surprised her, these things about him she had known and forgotten. But she would never forget this - the way he was looking at her just now - shock and anticipation and desire within his eyes.

She moved closer to him, between his legs, kissing the patch of thick black hair before taking his member in her hands. It was strangely warm and light as she lifted it to kiss the tip, feeling it harden further at her touch, the skin smooth and velvety. She teased the inside of his thighs with her fingers before lightly resting her left hand on his hip and beginning to slowly stroke his member. Hermione listened to his low moan of pleasure and delighted in it, wanting more and finding him with her lips and then her tongue, sucking gently to create more pressure. She looked at him, watching his pupils dilating, color rising to his cheeks. He then closed his eyes as his head tilted back in pleasure.

"Ah... Hermione," he moaned thickly, his thighs quivering slightly and one of his hands sifting through her hair. After a little while his hips gave an involuntary jerk before his hands found her shoulders, pushing her away. She drew back, confused - had she done something wrong? His face looked almost pained until he opened his eyes and pulled her towards him, moving to lay back on the bed as she moved over him, his hot member pressing against her thigh. 

She laid upon him and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tight. She could still not believe the feel of his warm skin against hers, of her body draped over his, at how easily they folded into each other. Though she had never been here before, not like this, she was so comfortable. He simply felt like home.

“Hermione,” he whispered achingly into her ear. He slowly ran his fingers up and down her back, wanting to savor every inch. He discovered the feel of her shoulder blade, the small of her back, the smooth plane of her side. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, loving how safe she felt here.

Severus breathed deeply before moving so that she turned onto her side, and then her back. He was now above her. "I want to please you too," he said, his breathing shallow.

His hands moved down her body as he did, cupping her breasts and trailing along her side, causing her to shiver. He knelt on the floor and she shifted to the edge of the bed. He waited for her to draw up her knees before his hands caressed the underside of her thigh and then the strong bone of her wide hips. His fingers hooked around the band of her knickers and slid them off.

She drew up her knees but felt a bit exposed, her hands clutching slightly at the blanket beneath her. He moved close and ran a hand along the underside of her thigh, then under her knee and to her calf, finding her ankle and foot. He wanted to touch every part of her, memorize her, but right now he wanted to put Hermione at ease. He gently moved her leg so that it sat upon his back, then did the same with her other leg, noticing how slight and strong and smooth it was before his eyes found hers once more. He reached forward, finding her hands with his, and laced his fingers with hers. 

Her heart hammered, waiting for an uncertain sensation as she felt him place kisses upon the sensitive skin around her core. His tongue then slowly pressed against her and she moaned, her toes curling and her eyes closing. He ran his flattened tongue up and down, then sucked lightly before moving even closer, applying more pressure, listening to her gasps and feeling her body respond as she pushed herself towards him. She breathed shallowly, her cheeks flushing as he took his time. She watched him look up at her with his deep eyes and she almost could not bear it, rolling her head back and letting out a loud moan in response. He stopped suddenly, moving his lips to delicately nip and kiss along her inner thighs.

"Severus, please," she gasped, her eyes closing, desperately wanting to finish. He returned his mouth to her core, his strong tongue flitting over her bump. He could feel her heels digging into his back, feel her hands grasp his, and he knew he was where she needed him to be. He quickly brought her into a state of high-pitched gasping and shaking before the final wave rolled over her. She was in complete ecstasy, crying out, her body pitching and trembling as he drew out her orgasm.

Hermione lay panting as Severus's hand strayed across her body and swept along her stomach. He pressed his cheek to her thigh, waiting for her to calm down again before standing up and moving with her to the center of the bed. He crouched over her, his lips upon hers, feeling her fingers graze the skin of his side.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked, his voice deep, his mouth next to her ear. She nodded, unsure how anything could be better than what she had just felt. She spread her legs slightly, drawing up her knees to place her feet on the bed, relishing in the feel of his thighs against hers as he positioned himself. He gave a ragged moan which she echoed as he entered her softly, slowly, until he was buried entirely in her folds. He lay upon her, kissing her, feeling the grip of her hands around his arms tightening and loosening, and then began moving in and out.

She whimpered softly from the tingling pleasure that grew into utter bliss, watching the expression upon his face which showed he felt just the same. She moaned, his movements quickening slightly as she relaxed beneath him. His mouth was on hers again and he began to make quiet grunts in the back of his throat every so often. Hermione was overwhelmed with pleasure as her hands roamed over his body, finding the soft dip of his spine, the muscles of his thighs which tensed and relaxed rhythmically, and the roundness of his bottom which flexed with his thighs. She moaned into his lips, beyond herself with the want of him, hoping that the delicious friction of his body within hers would never stop.

After some time he halted, his arms shaking, and disentangled himself from her. He pulled away and, taking one of her hands in his, moved to sit with his back against the headboard. She was never far from him, and she quickly moved to straddle his hips so that she faced him. His hands hovered at her waist as she reached down to find him, and both gave a gasp as their bodies joined together once more. 

She settled against him, feeling the heat of his chest radiating towards hers. His mouth went to her neck, his lips tenderly lingering at her collarbone and then her throat, before meeting hers again. She loved this, the thought that he wanted her, feeling his hands roam her body as he pleased, cupping a breast, trailing down her back.

She ran her fingers along his collarbone, his chest, down to his navel, disbelieving that he was hers to touch. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself before moving up and down again, alternating how quickly and how deeply she took him, watching his expression intently to see what he liked best. The way he looked, the way he made her feel, the way he touched her.... This was better than anything.

His breathing was labored, his hands moving to rest under her bottom, guiding her pace, then his thumb moving to press against her center. She found a rhythm that made him motionless, a back and forth with her hips that caused him to hold his breath and let it out in short gasps. Both of them could feel the tension in their bodies rising, the heat and the urge becoming uncontrollable and all-consuming. Her forehead rested upon his and his eyes and mouth were open, strained, as though he could only hold himself together for so much longer. She felt the strong sensation from her center, the raw tightening that told her she was close to those few moments of pure pleasure, and found herself reaching her peak.

"Oh, Severus!" she cried breathlessly, her whole body quivering from the intensity of her orgasm, her arms clasping around his back, and his around her. His own breathing then heightened and he suddenly shuddered below her, his lips pulled back into a grimace before he groaned into her neck, pushed in and out a few more times, and then stopped. Their chests heaved from the exertion of their love-making, a thin sheen of sweat upon both of them, arms still  wrapped around each other. They kissed deeply, their foreheads still pressed together, as though they never wanted this to end. His eyes held hers, full of desire and affection and pleasure.

He lay back against the pillows and she leaned forward, resting her weight on him, nestling into the crook of his neck. He held her tight, the fingertips of one hand running along her back, the other gently twisting the tips of her hair, his chin resting on her shoulder. They both rested, trying to catch their breath, and only after they had did they break apart. 

Hermione slid from him and they both moved under the covers. He turned onto his side, cradling her once more. She nuzzled into his chest and smiled to herself, remarking at the yellow of his skin next to the pink of hers in the little light coming from the candle on his table. She could see goosebumps all along his chest, and she drew the covers up further. He could only watch her in awe, his heart in his mouth and his chest seized with intense affection for her. 

"Hermione," he murmured, as though he was about the slip into a deep sleep.

"Yes?" she whispered back.

There was a slight pause. "I wanted to know whether you would consider… consider living with me?"

She was stunned. "What?" she asked breathlessly, pulling away from his chest so that she could look into his eyes.

He thread his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "You know there is no other place I would rather you be than here. I - I love you," he whispered, his thumb grazing her cheek.

She stared into his dark eyes, eyes which glinted with passion and strength and a bit of fear. They were a warrior’s eyes. And so were hers, for they had both - despite everything - survived a war that had threatened to tear away everything they cared about. Part of this had required years caught up in the troubles and desires of others, and all too little time thinking about what it was that they had really wanted, when it was all over. 

But in the end, they both had learned this much - life was too precious to waste a single second with half-heartedness. There was nothing to be gained by trepidation, not when they knew what they wanted. And they both knew, now, that what they wanted most was the person in their arms. 

Tears rolled from Hermione's eyes and down her face, and she moved her hand to wipe them away as he helped. "I l-love you, too," she stuttered, looking up at him, at this handsome man who enticed her, entranced her, made her feel things she had never felt before. And she let out a little laugh despite herself, because of how easy it was to admit to something of this magnitude when it was the truth. She loved him. 

He pulled her into his arms and she tilted up her head, kissing him for a long, long time.


	11. The Horror Within

Hermione woke up, the sunlight streaming in from the window over her head. Severus had already gotten up without waking her, but she could hear him flipping through the pages of a newspaper in the other room. She mustered the strength to leave the warm bed, found and put on her nightdress, and made her way to the living room while yawning and straightening her hair with her fingers.

Her heart did a flip when she saw the back of Severus's head as he sat in his chair, preoccupied with reading the newest issue of  _The Practical Potioneer._ Had this become her new normal? She reveled in this tiny private moment, this snippet in time when he didn't know he was being observed and was entirely at ease.  _She loved him - and he loved her._ Tears rose to the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back.

Hermione smiled to herself, then lent forward over Severus's shoulder and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek, watching as his lips turned up in the semblance of a grin. His eyes went to her and watched from over the top of his paper as she sat down with her side to the back of the settee, facing him.

"How are you?" he asked, fully dressed with an empty teacup on the table beside him. He folded the broadsheet and let it sit upon his thighs.

"A little sore," she admitted, accepting the cup of tea he summoned for her from its mid-air flight. "But fine, really."

"Drink," he suggested, kindly.

She sipped and nodded, tasting both ginger and cinnamon. "Ginger, for the soreness," she reasoned, looking at Severus who seemed a bit amused. "And cinnamon...?"

"Useful for many things. I suppose, in your case, memory enhancement."

Reality came back to Hermione in an instant. "N.E.W.T.s," she groaned, closing her eyes, the easy comfort she felt suddenly dissipating. "I have so much to do in the next month."

"Perhaps, then, we can peruse some more of my mother's memories before you become engrossed in your studies?"

She nodded and smiled, enjoying his pleasant mood. He returned to his paper and she finished her tea before changing into her set of simple black robes.

A house-elf appeared with a small pop in front of the fireplace as soon as Hermione crossed the threshold of the living area. It had a small plate on its hands which she quickly lifted away, for the house-elf was shaking uncontrollably.

"Jitters brings Miss Head Girl breakfast, for she must be hungry."

Hermione watched as Severus rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Jitters," she said, blinking from the sudden pop the elf caused as it Disapparated.

"I really must ask them to stop Apparating into my chambers," Severus muttered. "They only do so when you're here."

She blushed. On the plate were pancakes covered in a hot blueberry sauce and whipped cream. She conjured a fork and knife and sat the plate on her lap, before taking a small bite. "Mmm..." She smiled to herself and took another bite. "This is exactly what I wanted."

She noticed that Severus was watching her, taking his fill of the sight of her, and wondered if he, as she, was thinking of last night.

When she had finished eating, Severus folded his paper, took some Floo Powder from the jar sitting on the mantle, and sent the plate back to the kitchens. He met Hermione in the back of the room with the Pensieve and swirled the mixture with his wand.

"I have a question," she began.

"Of course," he responded, tilting his head in her direction and looking at her thoughtfully.

"When Ron, Harry, and I had talked to Myrtle about her death several years ago, she said that she had waited for hours for anyone to come and find her. And, if I remember correctly, the person who did was Olive Hornby."

"And?"

"She had made out as though she had no friends, but it's obvious that your mother was one. Why didn't your mother go looking for Myrtle when she went missing?"

"Patience, Hermione, is a virtue." She opened her mouth to give a retort, but he explained, "You don't have long to wait for the answers you seek."

They bent into the liquid of the Pensieve and saw Eileen. She was standing in the deserted second floor girl's bathroom, staring at her reflection in the cracked and spotted mirror which was illuminated by torchlight. She concentrated and watched as her hair turned a lighter auburn, then sandy blonde, and then a striking shade of yellow. Hermione could only imagine that Tom Riddle had charmed her when he had called her "Princess," and she had become self-conscious about her appearance. She could imagine Eileen's internal dialogue, considering the amount of time she herself had spent in front of the mirror thinking similar thoughts.  _Perhaps if I thinned my eyebrows a little and softened the black of my hair... added some blush to my cheeks and plumped my lips just a touch..._  Hermione watched as Eileen squinted while adjusting her appearance. The changes were not much - no one would be able to tell much differently - but the effect was lovely.

Eileen looked down and Hermione noticed she was looking at a small snake etched into the side of the copper tap. It was strange, but not so significant or interesting in a place such as Hogwarts. However, when Eileen ran her forefinger over the engraving, Hermione immediately understood her interest. This was Salazar's symbol, the one she had been tasked by Tom to find.

"It makes sense," Hermione whispered. "How else would he have found the entrance? A girl had to have helped him. These bathrooms were still used back then; I doubt he would have thought to check them."

Severus nodded, walking out of the chamber as his mother did. Hermione followed. They walked up the two flights of stairs to the library, presumably to find Tom. However, the first person Eileen found was someone she had not intended on seeing.

"Oh, hello Rubeus!" she exclaimed at the broad back which towered over her.

He turned around and bent over in order to better speak with her. "Eileen, I've been lookin' fer yeh," he smiled. "Wanted ter tell yeh abou' Kettleburn. He wants me ter help 'im!"

"Oh, that's great!"

"An' look," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a round milky-white orb. It looked like a crystal ball but there was a dark spot in the middle, and Eileen was confused about what it was. He dropped it into her open hands so she could look it over, Hermione and Severus both standing over her shoulder as she did. "What is it?" she finally asked.

"An Acromantula egg."

"What's an 'Acromantula?'"

"A gian' spider."

"Take it, take it away!" exclaimed Eileen, handing the egg back to Hagrid and jumping back, right through Severus and Hermione. "How did you get that thing?"

"Professor Kettleburn bough' a load of 'em off some traveler, an' I... I took one."

"You  _took_ one? Oh, Rubeus, how could you?"

Hagrid immediately turned red. "Bu' it's jus' one – he won' miss it too much. I'll take care-"

"Rubeus, you need to go back and give it back to Professor Kettleburn! It's going to be a giant spider one day and you won't be able to take care of it anymore! It could hurt someone!" She seemed exasperated and desperate to get through to him.

Hagrid had already put the egg back into his pocket. "O' course I will-"

"Rubeus, please!" she begged.

He looked as though he would begin to cry again, and his shoulders were hunched over as he walked out of the library and down the corridor. Eileen sighed and turned to walk down the adjoining aisle only to find Tom Riddle standing, watching her. He had obviously just heard everything that had been said.

Eileen, however, barely noticed; if she did, she didn't give any sign that she had. "Tom, I've found it."

"Found what, my Princess?" he leered, leaning against the freestanding bookcase next to them.

"The entrance," she whispered. His eyes grew large.

The library melted away and Hermione and Severus again stood in the girl's bathroom. Tom hissed to the tap in Parseltongue, Eileen standing guard at the entry to the large chamber. The sink screeched as it moved down, exposing a huge pipe.

Tom knelt down and looked into the darkness as though attempting to discern how far the drop was. He then turned to Eileen. "Are you coming with me?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I helped you find it, Tom, but I'm not going with you." She looked out into the corridor as some girls passed by. "Hurry, someone might walk in. Go!" she exclaimed.

He slid down and out of view, and everything faded. Hermione and Severus were now standing in Eileen's dormitory, watching as she packed her trunk. Myrtle sat on her bed, gloomily looking out of the large windows which faced the mountains. She was holding a pillow to her stomach and looked slightly pale. Hermione wondered how many days of life she had left. A month? A week? She looked as though she would collapse from exhaustion and worry at any moment, and Eileen looked no better.

"Do you really have to go?" Myrtle asked.

Eileen stowed the last of her clothes before turning around. "I don't  _want_ to," she said tearfully. "My mum and dad are making me." She paused, sitting down on her bed to face Myrtle. "But I don't blame them – four attacks in two weeks means that Hogwarts isn't safe. I just wish you were coming home with me."

The two girls hugged and Eileen locked her trunk, ready to burst into tears. Hermione and Severus followed the girls down the many flights of stairs they took on their descent until they reached the ground floor. McGonagall stood watchfully in the Entrance Hall, her hair braided back and her eyes nervously looking through the square frames of her glasses. She was quietly giving orders to the few students who were leaving while running her hand along the back of a tabby cat she had awkwardly cradled in her arms for comfort. Another Gryffindor Prefect with long straight hair hurried to stand next to her, whispering quietly and anxiously.

"Augusta Longbottom," explained Severus.

Eileen quickly ran up to a middle-aged couple who Hermione quickly assumed to be her parents -  _and Severus's grandparents_ , she thought. She noticed his grandmother from one of the first memories she had seen. She was slightly short, with curly blonde hair parted to one side that fell above her shoulders. There were large pearl earrings in her ears and she wore knee-length robes layered in shades of green. His grandfather towered over her, bending over to give his daughter a kiss before straightening back up. He had short black hair and wore robes of a deep blue, which draped over him as they would a coat rack. He was thin and angular but still good-looking, his eyes a shocking blue which changed from cold to warm as his expression did. It was obvious from how they were dressed that Eileen came from a family of wealth.

Professor Dippet was scurrying from family to family and looking harried, assuring that Hogwarts would be safe before long, that the attacker would be found, and that he was deeply saddened at the students' departures. Eileen took the time that the Headmaster spoke to her parents to hug Myrtle goodbye a final time.

They were suddenly in Eileen's bedroom at home, and she was laying upon the covers of her bed, sobbing.  _The Daily Prophet_ was splayed out on the covers in front of her, the headline "Girl Murdered: Culprit Identified, Expelled" in large lettering across the top. Professor Dippet was standing in front of the students in the Great Hall, looking morose and giving a silent speech. Lower on the page was a small picture with a handsome boy in Slytherin robes who smiled as he was being handed a large trophy for special services to the school. An article on another page was titled "Grindelwald's Forces Strong in Bulgaria."

Suddenly, the boy in the photograph stepped out of green flames which sprung up from the grate in Eileen's empty fireplace.

"There, there," he said, clucking his tongue at her with false empathy, "no use in crying."

She sat up and grabbed her wand from the drawer in her bedside table, pointing it straight at him. "How did you find me?"

"The school has records." He drew out his own wand. "You know as well as I that you aren't allowed to perform magic outside of school. Lower your wand," he commanded.

"What are you d-doing here?" She edged further away, without lowering her wand.

Tom stood near the edge of her bed and looked over her large bedroom. It was painted a soft blue and had high, vaulted ceilings, not unlike the Ravenclaw dormitories. She had a four-poster bed with white draping fabric and a matching bedspread. A large bookcase hugged the far wall and was filled to the brim with novels and small knick-knacks which seemed alive as they whirred, spun, and crawled around the books. Her half-emptied trunk sat open next to a wooden desk by the fireplace, and on the desk sat a birdcage with a small brown owl inside, its head tucked under its wing.

When he did not say anything to her, she said, "I've read the  _Prophet_ ; I saw that you, you've b-blamed Rubeus..." she stuttered. She then glared at Tom. "Rubeus would n-never have kept a creature that could... could k-kill someone! And, the attacks... they all s-started after you opened the c-chamber. It made me w-wonder if, if..." When he made no effort to dissuade her of her opinion, a horrified look came to her face. "It was  _you,"_  she whispered, her wand shaking. "Rubeus... and M-Myrtle," she gulped, tears filling her eyes. "I'll... I'll tell Professor D-Dippet what you've d-done!"

This was why he had come. He strode towards her, his furious face centimeters from hers as she sat back on her bed. "Tell him what? How you told me the  _exact_ location to the entrance of Slytherin's chamber? How, without you, I would  _never_ have been able to release the monster - and your filthy, Mudblood  _friend_  Myrtle would still be alive?" He had sneered the word friend, not caring what she felt, the horrible weight of the consequences of her actions hitting her like a punch to the stomach. "I'm sure he would take pity on you, before breaking your wand and expelling you. What would your family think?"

He pulled away from her and stood up, looking out of her window to the meadow below. She studied his face and found that he was no longer handsome to her. His face was white and stony, his lips thin, his nose and cheekbones sharp, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Get out, Tom," she ordered, crying freely. "Out – get OUT!" she shouted, throwing a book after him as he leapt towards the fireplace at the sound of high heels on wood. He disappeared before Eileen's mother stuck her head in the room.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked sweetly, entering the room as her daughter cried. She looked impeccable in her long blue gown, and did not hesitate to pull a sobbing Eileen to her chest, her eyes looking upon the newspaper on her bed. "I'm so sorry about your friend, Eileen. But at least you will be able to go back to school in the autumn, now that the boy who did it has been expelled." It was a weak gesture of comfort and her mother knew it. She sighed, and said, "It's almost time for dinner – will you come down?"

"I'm not really hungry," she murmured, miserably.

"All right." Her mother watched as she lay down in bed, despondent. "Try not to feel so bad, there's nothing you could have done to prevent it. What has happened, has happened." Eileen's tears streamed down her face as she turned onto her side, trying to come to terms with what she had just learned.

The memory faded, and they reappeared within Hogwarts. Hermione and Severus watched Eileen standing in an empty corridor, her long wand clutched in her shaking hand. She was wearing her Hogwarts uniform, her black hair braided down her back, and her face was flushed as though she had been running. Now trapped at the end of a corridor, she turned around and frantically searched for some way to escape her invisible pursuer. She had her hand on an empty classroom door, trying to pull it open in order to disappear inside. Several of the portraits were silently eyeing her with suspicion before looking back the way she came, only to see Tom Riddle striding in her direction.

"You dare  _run_?" he mocked, shooting a red spell at her.

" _Protego!_ " she exclaimed, deflecting it.

"Impressive magic for a – fourth year," he said, pausing only to aim a hex at her heart as he gained ground on her.

She deflected this once again before sending out a string of defensive spells. The portraits began clamoring and shuffling about to find better frames to see the duel, and Tom stepped back a few feet to distance himself from her, still looking furious.

"No one –  _no one_  – touches Lord Voldemort's possessions," he seethed, watching her tremble in fear. Hermione and Severus stood against the wall, between the two, as their spells ricocheted off the ceiling and caused several paintings to fall to the ground and shatter.

He shot a spell at her, causing her to double over in pain and slump to the floor. She scrambled onto her knees, still deflecting his spells. Eileen wondered if he would kill her as he had killed Myrtle, without a second thought. He had had murder in his eyes ever since he returned to Hogwarts the following September. She lifted her wand high as did he, both ready to strike, when they found themselves suddenly immobile.

A soft voice admonished, "That is enough." Dumbledore materialized between the two of them, looking from face to face in silence. With the slightest of motions he released them from their invisible bonds.

Tom dropped his hands to his side and stood stock-still, glancing past the Transfiguration Professor to glare at Eileen. "I was only protecting my things from this fourth year. She was attempting to steal a book of mine."

Without waiting, Dumbledore walked over to her and examined her. He ordered, "Please wait for me in my office, Tom, as I escort Miss Prince to the Hospital Wing so that her injury may be attended to." The Head Boy glared once again before turning on his heels and ascending the closest staircase.

Dumbledore directed her down several flights of stairs and then towards the Hospital Wing, his footsteps silenced by the golden slippers he wore to match his eggplant and gold robes. Hermione and Severus were not so quiet, and they listened closely to hear his hushed words.

"Stealing is not permitted at Hogwarts." Hermione stood next to the young Ravenclaw and noticed that she was struggling not to burst into tears, from the shame of being caught and the pain of the injury, which must have been great for she was having difficulty breathing and clutching her chest. "This behavior does not seem characteristic of you, Eileen, and I do not believe Tom would attack a fellow student for a possession as insignificant as a book." He paused. "Perhaps, there is something you wish to tell me?"

"No, sir," she gulped. It was more than obvious she was lying, but he did not let on that he noticed.

"Might you be able to tell me why you considered theft in the first place?"

"The book... interested me," she said, miserably failing to fabricate a story.

They stopped outside of the main door to the wing, and he turned to face her. "Please hand it to me." She hung her head as though finally defeated and, without looking at him, removed her hand from her stomach, reached into her cardigan, and pulled out a thin leather journal. Dumbledore turned it over in his hands and said, "You are an excellent student, Eileen, and all of your professors highly praise your work. It would be best not to present Professor Dippet with a reason to punish you." She nodded, her eyes still cast downwards, and entered the adjoining room by herself.

"Hermione," said Severus, putting his hand over hers. She stepped next to him and her head spun as they left the memory together. As he put away the Pensieve she sat up on the work table, waiting for him to turn around. When he did, she appeared to be deep in thought.

"Did your mother ever see Myrtle's ghost when she came back to Hogwarts?" she quietly asked.

"I'm unsure. I believe that Myrtle spent many years haunting Olive Hornby, until the Ministry ordered her to return here." Severus put his kettle in the sink and washed it out with water.

Hermione crossed her legs and tucked the excess fabric of her robes under her thighs as the table creaked. "How many more memories are there?"

"Not many," he answered, pulling his wand out to dry and put away the teapot.

She placed her hands in her lap and squeezed one in the other, asking, "What happened to your grandparents?"

Severus placed his wand back within his cloak and sighed, leaning against the table with one hand. "Dragon Pox. I never knew them."

"And your mother was their only child?"

"Yes."

"Why, then, didn't she inherit... inherit anything?"

His black eyes were inscrutable. "Do you mean to ask, why did I grow up in relative poverty when my own mother had been born to a family of affluence?"

Hermione looked embarrassed. "I didn't mean-"

"It does not matter - it is the truth. My grandfather had accumulated quite a lot of debt. There was simply nothing left for her."

After a pause, Hermione asked, "Did... did your mother never warn you about Voldemort?" Severus didn't answer her question, but instead placed the tips of his fingers under her jaw and tipped her head to the right, as though examining her. His eyebrows were furrowed, and she frowned as well. "What?"

"How can you be so full of questions?" he muttered.

"Perhaps if you weren't so reticent..." She placed her hands on his chest, smoothing out his black jacket before dropping them into her lap again. "But really, tell me."

He dropped his hands to his sides and looked down at her over his hooked nose. "No - no, she did not. She thought that to leave me ignorant was to protect me, to allow me to retain the smallest vestige of an innocent childhood. It is, perhaps, her most bitter regret." He sighed, and began to clear away several cauldrons which sat on the table, to busy himself. "You must realize, the mere thought of him caused her to suffer greatly. I do not know if she has ever come to terms with her own feelings of guilt in regards to Myrtle's death. I believe she was also perhaps one of the few people who could see the Dark Lord for what he was - understood what he was capable of - and watching him slowly rise to power made her frightened. She did not want me to suffer the same fear; she was too protective of me. She could not have imagined that-" He did not go on. His throat had gone tight.

"If-"

"As much as I would enjoy answering all of your questions, I believe I am keeping you from your studies." She pressed her lips together in dissatisfaction before hopping off the table and gathering her things. "You needn't - I'll send them through the Floo," he instructed. Severus gently embraced her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him delicately on the lips. "Perhaps I will see you later."

"Mm-hm," she hummed, a pitch higher than was normal. She left and studied the stone floor, deep in her thoughts as she walked up the stairs to her room.

Peeves swooped overhead and noisily played a tune on the suits of armor, so Hermione took a different flight of stairs to avoid running into him. She passed the library on the fourth floor landing and was surprised to see Ginny, running to the stairs while being batted over the head by a book.

"Miscreant! Pillock! Ink, spilled all over my book!" screeched the old librarian.

"Ouch! I didn't mean – ouch!" She dropped her messenger bag on the floor before picking it up by the strap. "Oh, Hermione!" she called out once she'd spotted her, quickly running up the stairs after her as the book zoomed into Madam Pince's arms. "Wait up!"

Hermione slowed her pace a little, stopping on the fifth floor landing. "What is it?" she asked, neither meanly nor kindly.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what I did, but I was worried about you." Hermione began walking again, but Ginny followed her closely, brushing her long hair out of her eyes.

Hermione turned, refusing to look at her and instead angrily addressing the steps. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to be questioned by McGonagall –  _McGonagall_ – about it? She still won't even call on me in class, and it's been two months!"

"So... so you  _are_ seeing Snape," confirmed Ginny, quietly, as though she still couldn't quite believe it.

"Well, supposedly you've been spying on me - it shouldn't come as a complete surprise," she spat. They had walked up the final flight of stairs and paused for breath, as they were well-winded by now.

"I just... I can't understand what you could possibly see in... in  _him."_

"No... I don't suppose you would," retorted Hermione.

Ginny suddenly looked around the corridor, and then down at the floor. "Fred died right here, you know." Her voice wavered. "I have to walk past here every day, and remember it. And you – you weren't here last year, when the Carrows terrorized everyone. You couldn't imagine-"

Hermione turned to face her. "No, I obviously couldn't imagine how frightened you were. I was only on the run from the Ministry and the Snatchers, caught and tortured, and then broke into Gringotts, only to come back the next day to Hogwarts to fight in the battle."

Ginny's mouth hung open. "I may be blinded, but it is difficult to forgive someone for when... Fred might still be alive, if..."

"Blame Snape if you like," Hermione responded, acid in her voice, "but he was only doing what Dumbledore had asked him to do. He played his part as a villain so convincingly, it seems, that you still don't have it right." Ginny turned pink. "He was constantly being watched. If the Death Eaters had thought he was soft on the students, he would have been removed from his position as Headmaster. Who knows who else would have taken it up." They now stood outside the door to Hermione's room. "No, I can't imagine what it was like to live here during that time, but you can't hold Snape accountable for something the Death Eaters did the night of the battle. I'm sorry Ginny, but blaming Snape isn't going to bring Fred back."

Tears came to Ginny's eyes, and her bottom lip trembled, then thinned. A group of Gryffindor boys passed them, laughing loudly.

"Anyway... I really have to get to studying," Hermione said quietly, moving towards the door.

Ginny stopped her. "Wait, Hermione - er, I have been meaning to tell you... My mum wants to have a graduation party for you, me, and Luna. Everyone's going to be there."

Hermione stared at her blankly, and then looked down. "Um... thanks for letting me know. I'll think about it," she replied, opening her door with the flick of her wand and closing it behind her. Ginny crossed her arms, sighed, and walked towards the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.


	12. Moving On

As Hermione opened the door to her room she heard Crookshanks meowing at her angrily. "Oh, I'm so sorry; I forgot to feed you last night!" She quickly poured out some food for him and watched the ginger cat eagerly stick his flat face into his little bowl on the fireplace. She opened her window, watched the curtains billow out from the warm breeze, put away the bags Severus had sent through the fireplace, and began cleaning her room. Once she had finished she sat with her books and several rolls of parchment, rewriting old notes as well as completing some homework. She went down to the Great Hall by herself for lunch, letting Crookshanks out so that he could have a roam of the castle, and returned to her room to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon studying. In the evening she dined alone, completely caught up in her work.

She sat in bed, tied her hair back, tuned her old radio to a classical station, and began reading through her Charms notes. There were only thirty days until her N.E.W.T.s, and she felt like she was barely prepared. She practiced her Heating Charm every day while she dried her hair, so she figured that shouldn't be much of a problem. Conjuring sheep, however, was difficult and messy, and she could only try a few times before becoming annoyed at the amount of black sheep she had produced when she was aiming for a soft grey. Hermione figured that using a Color Change Charm would be cheating, and so she had been working on advanced Vanishing to make them disappear.

It was well past midnight when the flames in her fireplace flickered green. A piece of parchment shot out, frightening her, before it drifted down slowly and landed in her lap. In tiny letters was scrawled a short message.

_May I come through?_

Her heart began to beat quickly, and she sent back her response using the same piece of parchment.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, standing up as moments later he walked out of the ashes and into her little room. A sheep bleated dolefully at them before Hermione caused the small flock she had created to vanish. Her first thought was that she had been glad she'd cleaned earlier – he'd never been in her room before, other than when they had visited it through her memory.

"How did I know you would be up at this hour?" He quickly took her into his arms, pressed his hand against the small of her back, and kissed her mouth fervently. "I want you," he murmured in her ear. It felt as though she had been struck by lightning, to hear him say those words, to see him in such a state of want and desire. Her lips met his with ferocity, and her shaking hands went to his jacket, wanting suddenly, desperately, to once more feel the skin underneath.

She moved back towards her bed, sat upon it, her hands not once leaving him even as he pulled away his jacket and then bent over her. It was so extraordinary to see and feel Severus Snape crouching over her on her bed, pulling at her tie and unbuttoning her shirt as she unbuttoned his, reaching to unhook her black bra and then running his hands along the smooth of her back before taking a breast in his mouth. She leaned back against her pillows and breathed heavily, laying her fingers on his forehead and then pushing them through his dark hair. His hands quickly went to her skirt, which he took off and laid on her floor before skimming the length of her legs.

She bit her lip before asking, "What about-"

"The contraceptive lasts until your next menstruation." He looked up at her, his eyes waiting for her nod. Severus then took off his belt, his trousers, and his underwear, while she pulled away her stockings and then her knickers. He was above her in an instant, and felt as she wriggled under the touch of his fingers against her thighs. His mouth was hard on hers, his tongue sweeping along her own, and she grinned. She still could not believe how good this was.

His hands were on her hips again, and after a short moment of finding the right position, he slid into her, both of them giving a sharp cry at the sensation. After taking a moment to regain control, he began to thrust deeply into her, almost frantically. Hermione listened to the bed thump softly underneath their combined weight and reveled in the feel of his warm body on hers, the feel of him within her. His low moans and gasps alone were enough to make that sensation within her to grow, and it didn't take long before a great wave of pleasure overcame both of them.

Severus collapsed onto her and she wrapped her arms around his torso, kissing his neck lovingly as he breathed in and out deeply. It was still unbelievable, for the skin of his body to be touching hers, for his breath to rush along her shoulder, for his hair to be tickling her cheek. When he had regained his composure he pulled away from her and laid on his side, looking down at her, his eyes soft. She rolled over to face him, and he ran his left hand along the curves of her body as she pressed her fingers against his chest.

It had begun to rain earlier, and they listened to the downpour rushing off of the castle's roof mixed with the sweet chorus of instruments from her radio.

"I love you," whispered Hermione, still shocked at the declaration, at the feeling those words made when they left her lips.

"And I, you," he murmured, his hand resting on her back, pulling her even closer to him.

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his chest. With a slight motion of his hand, he extinguished all the candles in her room and turned the music down to a whisper. They quickly fell asleep together in her little bed, exhausted and sated.

.

.

.

She was woken up by a pair of lips trailing across her shoulders. "Time for class," he said quietly, his hair a ruffled mess.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him before burrowing under the covers. "Please don't make me go," she groaned, tired and wanting nothing more than to stay in bed with him.

His hand wandered along her stomach, to her hips, down along her thighs, and then back. She was immediately awake, and suddenly felt his hard member pushing against her.

"Hermione," he whispered, his throat tight.

She softly squeezed his hand, and then moved it down to her hips, and then further. Severus's warm hand moved from hers, slipped between her knees and gently pulled her leg over his, giving him access to her from behind. His right hand was on her center, teasing her as she began to gasp and move against him. She arched her back into his stomach, whispering his name, moaning deeply. He positioned himself and he pushed into her slowly, filling her, groaning softly, and then pulling away, thrusting as gently as he could. His right hand ran along her nipples, then her stomach, his hot breath rushing along her ear. She moaned in delight – the sensuality of it was so different from how it had been last night. Not better, just different... It let her experience him fully, the way she wanted to. His hand moved back to sit between her legs, gently teasing her to help her reach orgasm, and when she did it was explosive. He then held onto her hip, stroking in and out at an ever increasing speed as she gasped and cried out, the pleasure almost too much for her. He then shuddered into her, holding her close for a while longer, his lips again upon her neck. After a while he pulled away and, once he had caught his breath, he left her bed.

Severus pulled on his black trousers, socks, and shoes. "You have half an hour before class," he said, watching her step out of bed naked and search through her drawers for a fresh set of clothes. Once she had pulled on enough clothing to feel respectable, she stood up next to him. He helped button her shirt as she buttoned his, and when they had finished they kissed each other deeply. "You should go eat breakfast," he suggested, watching her pull up her skirt and tuck her shirt in.

"I'm not really too hungry," she mumbled, feeling his eyes on her as she reached for a brush to comb out her hair. "Besides, I really should read through my Transfiguration essay once more, just so I know I've weeded out any errors."

He walked up to her fireplace and threw some powder into the grate. "I hardly understand how you can be so practical and yet so impractical at the same time." His cape and necktie were draped across his forearm as he stepped out of her room and vanished. Despite his words, Hermione giggled to herself, shaking her head.

Her day was a long one. McGonagall was particularly unpleasant during class, berating Hermione when she wasn't the first to fully transfigure her desk into a pig. She had at least done better than Ginny, as every time Ginny's pig oinked it let out a sort of creaking sound.

During her double Potions class she found it exceedingly difficult to concentrate. She looked around at her classmates as they sat with their chins in the palm of their hands, bored of Severus's lesson. Could anyone have even dreamed that Severus Snape had lain naked next to Hermione Granger last night? Her mind sifted through recent events as he lectured about the importance of cauldron composition to potion yield.

"Miss Granger, your mind is obviously elsewhere. Ten points from Gryffindor, and if I catch you daydreaming again you will have earned yourself a detention." She shrunk into her seat, her face red from embarrassment. Why did he always pick on her? It was obvious she wasn't the only one not paying attention! She redeemed herself by being the first finished with her Draught of Deception, and when she submitted her potion for testing, the dandelion Severus dropped into the cauldron transformed into a brilliant yellow rose. "Excellent work, Miss Granger," he said, flicking his wand at a stack of essays he had marked and letting hers float into her hands. "Continue as such, and an 'Outstanding' will be easily attainable on your N.E.W.T.s." He smirked at her and she left, hugging her essay marked with an "O" to her chest.

Arithmancy was duller than usual, and it was all she could do to not fall asleep in class. There were only seven N.E.W.T. students, however, so she wouldn't be able to get away with daydreaming this time, either. Herbology was her last class, and they had been transplanting and watering the school's crop of figgets, beautiful flowers with bright blue petals and a poisonous bite. The students wore protective gloves, but Hermione absentmindedly readjusted one of the pots after the lesson, after she had stowed her gloves away.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed quietly, pulling her fingers away and looking at the fine pricks of blood along her ring and middle finger.

"Oh dear," said Professor Sprout, bustling over and taking Hermione's hand in her own to look at the wound. "Best go to Madam Pomfrey, quick as you can."

"Yes, of course," she said, feeling her fingers begin to swell and finding it difficult to flex them. However, the Hospital Wing was four floors away, and she knew that Severus would have the same remedies Madam Pomfrey did.

Hermione quickly entered the front door of the castle and ran down the steps to the dungeons, turning the familiar corners but slowing when she heard a loud meow. She thought it might somehow have been Crookshanks, but instead found Mrs. Norris sitting in the middle of the hallway, her large yellow eyes staring at Hermione as she walked past. She clumsily knocked on Severus's office door with her left hand before quickly opening it.

"-wanted me to give you-" rasped a thin voice, stopping immediately when her knocking was registered. Both Filch and Severus were looking at her, slightly bewildered, and she looked at them with similar emotion.

When no one spoke, she held up her engorged hand and said, "Erm, I need some help, Professor."

Severus nodded curtly at Filch, took a bundle of papers from his hand, and tucked them inside of his cape. He watched as the caretaker shuffled slowly out of the room.

"Come along, my sweet," Filch said hoarsely to his scrawny cat, who was now loudly yowling behind Hermione. He shut the door behind him after casting one last look at the pair with his bulging eyes.

Hermione rushed over to Severus's side, her hand now swollen to twice its natural size and her bones feeling as though they were burning. "A figget bit me in Herbology, just now," she explained.

Wordlessly, he pulled out a small cauldron, set it among several other large ones on his worktable, and shredded some yarrow and cowslip. He poured out a vial of thick orange paste before taking a ladle and stirring the ingredients three times clockwise. The mixture quickly homogenized and became a bright green fizzing liquid. He transferred the potion into a cup for her.

"Drink this, to stop the effects of the poison." She managed to bring it to her mouth and swallowed, surprised that it was tasty, although gritty. A cooling sensation ran through her hand, and Severus set to work making a Deflating Draught. After he had finished, she downed it as she had the last potion. The swelling went down rapidly and soon enough she could flex her fingers again. "How is your hand now?" he asked, holding it in his, his eyes searching hers.

"It's still a bit painful," she remarked, "but better."

Severus let out a breath of air, as though his chest had been drawn tight, and let go of her hand. He began putting away the materials he'd used and started lecturing her. "You are lucky they were only seedlings. Figgets are in Greenhouse Three for a reason!" He paused, and then added, "Perhaps you are failing to pay attention in several of your classes, and not just mine? Professors tend to notice when their pupils are out of sorts, and I am certain someone such as Minerva will not hesitate to draw conclusions." Hermione looked quite sheepish, and he continued. "I did not single you out in a class today to shame you, but so that you would realize that if I can see you are preoccupied, so can others."

"I'm sorry!" she assented, feeling that his scolding had gone on long enough.

"It is not enough to be  _sorry,"_  he snapped, flicking his wand so that the last of the ingredients he had used neatly arranged themselves on the shelves behind him. He had not spoken to her like this in a very long time, since before their relationship had started. "'Sorry' cannot help you if you were to be seriously injured, or worse. There is not always a quick remedy I can conveniently provide you that will make everything right again, Hermione!" He twirled his wand towards another cabinet, and a bowl glided towards them before setting down on the table.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" she demanded, folding her arms across her chest. "Why was Filch just here?" she inquired more calmly, now connecting the dots.

Severus's face had darkened, his lips becoming thin. He wordlessly reached into his cape and pulled out a stack of issues of  _The_   _Daily Prophet,_  tied together in a bundle. He pulled away the string and scanned over the articles before handing them to her. The first headline was "Accused Death Eater Released from Azkaban." A picture of Lucius Malfoy sneering at her took up nearly half the page. "Released!" she exclaimed shrilly. "On good behavior!" Her heart was pounding.

"It seems that they have once again equated 'good behavior' with the number of Galleons Lucius has sitting in his vault at Gringotts."

She continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Years of  _hosting_ Voldemort in his manor, bending to his every whim, and they  _let him out on good behavior?_  He's even criticizing the Ministry for not having enough evidence to imprison him in the first place, that it was a scandal – listen to this! 'Mr. Malfoy is concerned that many other Death Eaters now residing in Azkaban are victims of a ploy fabricated by the Ministry to imprison as many possible suspects, although not proven criminals, as retribution for the general public.' He's paving the way for more to be released." She took the next paper he handed her and anger welled up in her. "Severus Snape: You-Know-Who's Right-Hand Man? New Information Arises with Malfoy's Release" was written in bold letters. All of the papers had been published in the past few days.

He conjured a cloth and dipped it into the bowl, which Hermione realized was filled with essence of murtlap. He stood beside her, reaching for her injured hand and forcing her to put down the paper. He dabbed the essence onto her wound and she winced as the liquid touched the bite. "They have slandered your name and mine in the past with little evidence. They will do it again and again to whomever they like without the slightest feeling of remorse." He gestured towards the paper. "Do you realize what color this is printed in?"

"Er... black and white?" she asked, feeling as though this was a trick question and not wishing to answer incorrectly.

"Yes, Hermione, because that is the light they view the world in – you are either guilty or innocent, wrong or right, and there are no shades of grey in between. There is no money to be made in truth." His hand squeezed hers, as he returned the cloth to the bowl. "Proving my innocence would require revealing my motivation, which I will not. People will think what they like, and that is how it will always be." As he said these words, Hermione realized the emotion that she saw in his eyes was not anger, but fear. And that chilled her to her core.

"So, Filch gathered those for you?" she asked, looking down at the papers, hoping to redirect his attention.

"He was simply delivering them." Severus lifted her injured hand and studied it, his thumb skirting along her wrist, noticing for the first time several shallow white scars along her palm. "What caused these?" he asked quietly.

"In the Lestrange's vault, everything was cursed with  _Flagrante_. I burnt my hand on Hufflepuff's goblet."

"I had forgotten," he murmured, dabbing at them with the cloth although knowing this would do nothing to remove them. "Breaking into Gringotts, what a fool... Only someone as arrogant as Potter would have considered that feasible."

"It was necessary, and it worked," she retorted, wincing as he ran the cloth over the bite mark once more. He conjured a bandage, wetting it with the essence first, and tightly wrapped it around Hermione's injured fingers.

"Not without some scarring." He poured the unused essence down the sink and gathered the cloth and the papers with a flourish of his wand, sending them into the fire. Hermione watched as the stack of paper fed the flames and then quickly turned into white ash. He sighed. "In any case, we have more significant things to rest our minds upon."

.

.

.

After dark they left the castle and descended towards the Black Lake, hidden from view with a Disillusionment Charm Severus had cast. The grounds were deserted and the air was fresh after yesterday's rainstorm, the trees swaying overhead calmly in the wind. The water lapped gently upon the shore, and the half-moon shone on Dumbledore's white tomb. They now stood on the other side of the lake, far from prying eyes, and Severus removed the charm wordlessly.

" _Orchideous_ ," Hermione whispered as she moved her wand in a circle in the air, laying a wreath of white carnations at the foot of the tomb.

Severus touched the cool marble for a moment before directing Hermione along a well-worn path, lined by flutterby bushes and large oak trees. After a few minutes of walking they came to a large granite monolith which stood in a small clearing. They stopped at the foot of it, looking up at the inscribed names of those who had fallen not just during the Battle of Hogwarts but ever since the beginning of the First Wizarding War. The lettering of each name lit and softly went out so that the large stone glittered in the night. She conjured a bouquet of flowers and laid it at the base, among so many others which had been left there that day.

"I can't believe the battle was a year ago." Hermione's voice was high-pitched and thin, and she found that words escaped her. She simply watched the names illuminate in silence, unable to read them all. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Fred Weasley. Albus Dumbledore. Charity Burbage. Cedric Diggory. James Potter. Lily Potter.

Her eyes went to Severus's.  _It could have been us, too,_ she thought.  _Our names could be on this statue. Or Severus's name could have been there, and I could be standing here, and what would I have thought when I saw it? Pity, probably, and nothing more. I... I might not even have thought that his name deserved to be there._

Severus slowly turned away, looking back towards the expanse of the mountains and the Black Lake at their feet. "We should be going." When she did not move, he warned, "It is dangerous to grow too sentimental, Hermione." The wind caught his cloak, and it billowed softly around him.

She looked at him as though she wanted to believe she had misheard. "How could you say that?" she gasped, appalled.

He looked back towards her. "To grow sentimental is to grow complacent." The light from the monument flickered softly, illuminating Severus's face and casting it into shadow, his black eyes glittering. "It is much too easy to forget that it is not over."

"Not over? Is this... is this about Lucius Malfoy?"

Severus let out a breath of air that could have been mistaken for a laugh, but instead was derisive, mocking. "Lucius is not a worry. But you cannot be naive enough to believe that this is the end? That there will never be another war? That blessed Harry Potter has rid the world of all evil after his defeat of the Dark Lord?" She watched as he twirled his wand between his fingers, then held it fast. "Wizards have spent centuries measuring their worth and the worth of others by the so-called 'purity' of their blood. Do you truly believe that these deep-seated prejudices have gone simply because one wizard has been defeated?" He paused. "The Dark Lord was not the source of this evil - merely the result. His death leaves nothing but a vacuum." Severus stepped closer to her, his voice dropping. "We are a power hungry, greedy, insatiable race, every generation or so producing a witch or wizard who exemplifies this to ever higher degrees. It is in an inherent failing of our species that the very thing which is our greatest strength is also our deepest flaw." His eyes bored into Hermione, as though desperately wanting her to understand what he was saying. "I have sat at tables with wizards who would do anything for power. They would sacrifice their firstborn sons just to  _taste_  it. And they are still out there, waiting for someone else to promise them a path to what they seek." He pulled away from her, casting his eyes one last time upon the monument before again turning away. "Yes, let us pay our respects to the dead, Hermione, but let us not assume that they died simply to become names on a stone. They are worth more than that. To pretend that their cause ended with them is an insult to the nature of their sacrifice."

Her heart was in her throat. She did not want to believe that what he said was true. She wanted to believe that things could change, that things could only get better. But she thought of what Severus had said, the things he must have seen, and knew his opinion to be immutable. And she knew it was perhaps with good reason.

Hermione again looked upon the monument, and noticed just below the names were words engraved upon the stone.  _Where their work has finished, ours begins_.

They stood in silence before Severus softly murmured, "Let us go." He placed the Disillusionment Charm upon them once more, and they walked back up to the castle in silence.

Severus watched the blades of grass ahead of him as they were crushed underneath Hermione's feet. He had not wanted to upset her, but it was necessary for her to understand the reality of the world they lived in, a world that she still had yet to be fully immersed in. Her treatment at Hogwarts was not an accurate representation of what the rest of their world was like. He knew the sorts of prejudices that Hermione would undoubtedly face at some point or another; he could not protect her from them. The kindest thing he could do was to make her realize that they existed, even as she, a brilliant Muggleborn, defied them all.

But then, with a searing pain to his stomach, and a flush of shame rising to his cheeks, he realized that perhaps he had been unduly harsh on her. She was no stranger to the prejudice he spoke of, as though he was more the expert than she - she, who would carry the word  _Mudblood_  etched upon her forearm for the rest of her life. His stomach twisted again. There was something so beautiful in her that allowed her this optimism, an innocence that was worth protecting rather than corrupting. For her to still have hope, to still believe that there was good in the world, despite everything she had endured - how could he deny her that? Who was he to tell her any differently?

Not long after reaching the dungeons they were in their nightclothes, lying together in his bed. He was calmly stroking her arm, feeling slightly protective, slightly repentant.

"You know, Harry put the Elder Wand back into Dumbledore's tomb after the battle," said Hermione.

Severus nodded, running his fingers through her hair. "Where it should rightfully be." After a while of lying beside her, he asked, "May I see your wand?"

Her heart did a flip. It was quite an intimate act, to allow another witch or wizard hold your wand. If it was broken or stolen, another one could be bought, yes, but it would take years to learn and master, and so it was uncommon to trust another person to handle it.

She nodded and reached over to the bedside table with her left hand, turning back over before handing it to him. He looked it over, asking, "What are its properties?" He noted the beautifully engraved tendrils, the light wood, and its slim length.

"Ten and three-quarters inches, vine with dragon heartstring core. Ollivander said it was 'pliant.' And yours?" He handed her wand back, and she could not help it - she immediately felt relieved.

Severus picked up his wand from his bedside table, rolling it between his fingers before handing it to her. "Thirteen and a half inches, birch with dragon heartstring. Rigid." She inspected the carved handle, the black length. She could not imagine the spells this wand had performed, and part of her did not want to. Severus kissed Hermione gently, cradling the back of her head with his right palm. "There is an old saying that 'similar cores attract.'"

She blushed. "But I thought it was your mother's wand, originally."

"Yes, it was. But after disuse, she was no longer the wand's master. In that way, it was able to choose her son. Wands often transfer between family members, and although some believe there is one wand best suited for one wizard, most wandmakers understand familial bonds."

He accepted his wand from her, placed it upon his bedside table, then laid on his back. Hermione rubbed her left hand over his stomach before resting it on his chest, her bandaged hand against her collarbone, her thoughts drifting to what had happened exactly one year ago.

"I'm - I'm glad Fawkes came, that night," she whispered, watching as his eyes opened and he turned his head, peering down at her.

Her hand upon his chest rose and fell with his breathing. "I'm glad  _you_ were there," he murmured. Hermione felt pinpricks of tears at the corners of her eyes, her lips met his, and they soon fell asleep, holding each other close.

.

.

.

The month of May quickly passed for Hermione, the thought of N.E.W.T.s looming over her becoming a frightening reality. She refused sleep, drilled herself continuously, reread all of her notes, and spent more hours in the library than she thought possible. She and Severus hardly saw much of each other, to the dismay of both.

And then, just like that, she had taken her N.E.W.T.s. Her days as a Hogwarts student, the best years of her life, were over.  _No_ , she told herself.  _My life has only just begun – and it will only get better._

She now stood facing Severus in his bedroom, wearing a set of brilliant white robes for her graduation. She had tied her hair back and pulled it into a bun at the nape of her neck so that she would be able to affix a white witch's hat on top of her head.

He kissed her forehead, stroking her throat with his fingers. "You're looking quite smart, Miss Granger," he said, smirking at though he was highly pleased. He pulled at her collar and tie so that they were arranged neatly beneath the golden clasp of her short cape, and then led her to the doorway. "My fireplace will be open tonight at exactly ten thirty, and only for five minutes."

She nodded and kissed him on the cheek, then quickly rubbed away the print of lipstick she had accidentally left behind. "I'll be there." He listened to her heels clack against the stone before closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

Hermione hurried up to the Entrance Hall and found her classmates milling about excitedly. She had missed the Graduation Feast, but apparently so had several other students who were pulling on their hats and hurrying down the stairs so as not to be left behind. McGonagall stood at the front in her customary green and black, accompanied by Professor Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Hooch, Vector, Babbling, and Collins, the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was young, energetic, and had promisingly lasted through the year. She now saw Severus standing beside Filch, Pince, Hooch, Pomfrey, Trelawney. who seemed as though she'd celebrated with some cooking sherry earlier that morning, and O'Hara, the new professor of Muggle Studies. Even Peeves, Moaning Myrtle, Professor Binns, and the other spirits of the castle wafted in from above to watch the celebration. Hagrid stood by himself near the gigantic doors to the Entrance Hall.

McGonagall cleared her throat and began her speech. "It has been seven years since you came here seeking knowledge, eager to learn and hone your skills. We have all lived through some of the most difficult times our world has ever seen, and we must never forget those who should be celebrating their own accomplishments today, but instead are no longer with us." She paused in grief before continuing, "But we must pluck up and stand strong as we always have. As a parting gesture, my fellow professors and I would like to enumerate the  _most_ important lessons you have learned here." She paused, pressed her lips together so not to grin, and said, "For example, I would not recommend practicing Vanishing Spells in the nude. Pomona?"

Professor Sprout was dressed in her best leafy-green robes and seemed to be covered in ivy. "I'd rather spend time with a disgruntled person than a disgruntled puffapod any day," she chuckled. Several of the students were laughing by now.

"Muggles are fascinating in the way they make the easiest tasks so complicated," explained O'Hara.

"Sometimes, even the  _professors_  have difficulty paying attention," said Binns.

Collins chortled out, "Humor is a weapon impossible to combat."

"Some... some are just not as, as gifted as others," mumbled Trelawney torpidly.

"Animals don' care who yeh are, long as yeh feed 'em!" boomed Hagrid.

Vector said, in her high voice, "It's not the numbers that will drive you crazy – it's what they're telling you."

"Awjan-uh wulno ne isti," said Babbling.

"When all else fails," drawled Severus, "use a bezoar."

Flitwick squeaked, "Remember, it's all in the-"

"-hand movement!" finished a chorus of students.

Sinistra smiled, saying, "You all know this one as well – astronomers do it-"

"-in the dark!"

"Hold on tight," said Hooch. "It's all in the hands and-"

"-the thighs!"

After the uproarious laughter died down, McGonagall said with a small smile, "We would like to wish you luck and happiness. We hope that you will all find professions that interest and inspire you. But above all, we expect that, even when you are as old as me," she paused for chuckling, "you will still remember your days at Hogwarts with fondness. Off to the boats," she said, the grand doors opening with the gesture of her hand.

"How are yeh, Hermione?" asked a familiar voice. She realized that Hagrid was dressed in his finest moleskin overcoat and a new purple tie, grinning from ear to ear even though there were tears in the corners of his small crinkly eyes. "How 'bout a cup o' tea, later this week? I've wanted ter talk to yeh."

"Of course, Hagrid," she said, elated from the professors' speech. She was quickly lost in the sea of white as the students cheered and descended down to the fleet of boats they had been brought to Hogwarts in as first years. Several boats had already pushed off to float across the lake, Hagrid alone in the front, and she was about to get into one by herself before an ethereal voice called her name.

"Luna!" she exclaimed, quickly hopping in beside her and Ginny before setting out across the lake. Luna had braided white ribbons into her hair and wore a garland of daisies on the crown of her head to match her robes.

"I haven't seen you very much this year," said the blonde haired girl quietly. "I'm sure you've been very busy."

"I'm really sorry about it, I've-"

"Don't be sorry, it's quite all right. Look, the giant squid – I guess he's come to say goodbye."

Hermione looked down into the water and nearly shrieked – a giant eyeball was staring at her from just beneath the surface. She looked away and noticed that the graduating students had begun to conjure balloons and streamers, shooting them other of their wands in celebration. She added a flock of silver doves which flew up into the sky and disappeared as Ginny charmed a cloud of multicolored bubbles the size of bowling balls which bounced across the surface of the lake. Others had set off silver fireworks which zoomed around the boats and exploded in the air.

"I'm glad you're both celebrating by coming to the party," Ginny said to her companions.

Luna smiled to herself and said, "Of course. It's very sad to leave here, but at least I've made friends. All good things come to an end, I suppose."

Hermione looked behind her and saw the professors standing at the edge of the cliff, watching the students as they left. She concentrated, twisted her wand and a white otter shot out of the end, swimming through the air and back towards the cliff they had departed from. Soon enough Ginny's horse and Luna's rabbit swirled around overhead, and then were joined by a dog, a fox, a raven, and a pig, flying past each boat and then soaring over Hogwarts before disappearing.

They banked upon the opposite shore, and as Hermione stepped out of the boat, she realized that she didn't need to worry – she would be back, soon enough.


	13. Mixed Feelings

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna Apparated right outside the doorstep of the Burrow, quickly entered, and were greeted by an animated Mrs. Weasley.

"Congratulations girls!" she exclaimed, hugging her daughter first before embracing the other two. She was dressed in colorful robes made of several bright floral patterns she had most likely sewn herself. "Your father will be home as soon as he can – he's awfully proud of you," she told Ginny. "Everyone's outside," she explained, opening the back door in the kitchen and standing outside the threshold. As Hermione was ushered out she noticed the wonderful miasma of smells issuing from the kitchen and watched as Mrs. Weasley began levitating food onto the very large rectangular table set up in the garden.

"Harry!" exclaimed Ginny, running into his arms and kissing him, the brim of her white hat catching his forehead and dropping onto the ground.

They both turned beet-red as soon as George began laughing. "Get a room, both of you."

"Shut up, George," Ginny said, defensively, picking up her hat and throwing it at him.

"What's that? I can hardly hear you," he replied rather loudly, putting the hat on his head, turning towards her and cupping the hole where his right ear had been. He smiled, and his little sister hugged him, as did Hermione. "About time you three showed up, I'm bloody starving! Besides, Angelina's in a fragile state - she needs feeding, and fast," he said, gesturing towards his wife's stomach. Hermione could see that it was quite large under the thin fabric of her summer robes, and realized that she was pregnant.

"Rubbish, and you know it," Angelina retorted.

"Congratulations!" exclaimed Hermione. "I can't believe I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Thank you – time does seem to go by pretty quickly. And congratulations yourself!"

Hermione watched Ron stand up from his seat at the table and awkwardly extend her a hand.

"Don't be silly," she mumbled, denying him the handshake and giving him a hug instead. "How are you?"

"Fine," he replied, his eyes struggling to meet hers before going up to Luna and shaking her hand. Hermione couldn't read in his expression whether he knew about Severus, but he did seem rather miserable and put off. It had been nearly ten months since their argument – he should have gotten over it by now!

Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen and tried to get them to sit at the table. "Would anyone like some Nogtails-in-a-Blanket? I also have some fried Plimpies, garden salad, and pistachio ice cream from Florean's. Hermione, you look terribly thin." Before she could disagree, Mrs. Weasley had thrust a plate full of food into her hands. "Tuck in – the weather's only just managing to hold out, and I'm sure Harry's dying for a game of Quidditch. Ginny, Luna, Hermione, there are some spare clothes upstairs you can change into later."

Hermione greeted Harry and turned around to see Luna standing alone underneath a large tree, looking up through the branches. She set her plate down on the table and they both walked over to ask how she was.

"I'm feeling exceptional," she explained in response to their question, "but I had been told my dad would be here."

"Er – he is. Right this way," Harry said, glancing at Hermione, a funny look on his face. As they walked together she noticed how truly scrawny he was, but also how he stood taller and seemed much happier than she had ever seen him. As they walked to the edge of the garden Hermione spotted Xenophilius on his stomach, looking into a hole in the ground.

Luna wordlessly got down on her knees and asked, "What is it, Daddy?"

"Snuffenplumbs! Aren't they fascinating?"

"Er... what?" asked Harry, bending over to look.

"An ancient race of miniature people now thought to be extinct," he jabbered on. "I never thought I'd live to see the day... and to think they were here in Ottery St. Catchpole this whole time!"

"They're... they're just garden gnomes," said Ron incredulously. He had followed the trio into the garden out of curiosity.

"It is easy to mistake them as  _Gernumbli gardensi_ , but after years of experience extensively working with the species I can tell from the gnobbly feet of these beings that they are something entirely different! Perhaps I'll Apparate over to the house and grab a net – I would love to capture one and study its language. Who knows what headway I can make on such an unknown creature?" During the course of his speech several chickens had crossed the yard and started picking at his robes, which were a fine grass-green dotted with small bright yellow circles that looked like corn kernels.

Harry turned towards his two best friends and shrugged his shoulders. "We're going to go eat – come join us whenever you can," he offered the two Lovegoods.

"Oh, I'm not too hungry. I ate an exceptional amount of treacle at the feast," sighed Luna. Xenophilius was mumbling to himself, so the trio left the father and daughter together.

"Glad to see they're loony as ever," said Ron.

They sat down at the table, and Hermione noticed Fleur and Bill had arrived. They were sitting at the table, and Fleur held a little bundle in her arms which everyone was crowding around.

"'Er name iz 'Victoire,' for she was born on ze anniversary of ze battle," Fleur cooed, looking slim for only having given birth a month ago.

"She's beautiful," remarked Hermione. The baby had bright green eyes and silvery hair, her skin a soft pink.

"Yes, she does look like her mother," said Bill, pressing his lips to Fleur's forehead. Hermione smiled and wondered if she had the same look of contentment on her face when Severus kissed her like that.

She quickly dug into the food and said, "Harry, I've been meaning to talk to you about Lucius Malfoy."

Harry immediately looked both angry and exhausted. "You couldn't even imagine the uproar in the Auror department. The Malfoys are claiming they defected before the end of the war, and so any crimes they committed beforehand should be forgotten. But, I mean, he was there in the graveyard when Voldemort came back. His house was Voldemort's  _headquarters_. He helped re-open the Chamber of Secrets, was part of the riot at the World Cup, fought us in the Department of Mysteries, and then broke out of Azkaban to help Voldemort gain power. They have loads of evidence against him, and releasing him on the basis of 'defecting' is rubbish."

"But that's the thing, Harry," said Bill, as he cut up the sponge-like Plimpy with his fork and knife. "There isn't any evidence, except for individual testimony. He was clever enough to never admit to anything he was accused of, to cover his tracks, and to keep close ties to the Ministry to maintain a cover of innocence. It's obvious to which side he's leaning, but there is no proof. Even the Dark artifacts he collected over the years for Voldemort are hidden somewhere, though Dad's tried several times to find them and failed. Get them, and you could prove  _something_. They'd be the only hard evidence we'd have."

"The Ministry will always be corrupt," said Ginny. "Dad said that even in its better years, there were always witches and wizards within the Ministry who directed its power towards things like Muggle hunting, or relocating Centaurs from their ancestral lands. It's useless to get angry, Harry – nothing's going to change."

"I just thought that Kingsley would have done everything he could to make sure Death Eaters were convicted and kept in Azkaban."

"Me too, mate," said Ron, softly. Hermione noticed a fresh cut across his cheek, and wondered if he was still struggling with his training.

She finished her meal before going into the house and changing into a pair of Ginny's jeans and an old pink blouse of her own that she had accidentally left during one of her stays. Ginny had already changed, and everyone else was down at the orchard as Mrs. Weasley cleaned off the long table in the garden.

Hermione walked down the path, past the broom shed, and saw several figures racing through the air on broomsticks. Harry was flying in loops around everyone else with his Firebolt but Ginny was doing her best to keep up. She did have a certain agility that Harry lacked. George, Ron, and Bill were tossing around the Quaffle as well, laughing and shouting as they accidentally dropped it into the trees below.

Hermione sat on a blanket under the grove of trees with Angelina, Fleur, and Victoire, who was napping. The radio was turned on, and she recognized The Weird Sisters playing their new single over the small amount of static.

"Come on, Hermione!" exclaimed Bill. "We need another person to make it even!"

"I can't, I hate flying!" she replied.

"You're no fun!" Harry shouted down to her.

"Was I ever?" She laid down on her back and put her hands behind her head, cushioned by the soft grass underneath. It had been forever since she had gone outside, and the soft breeze, the sound of the wind rushing through the field around the paddock, and a full stomach lulled her into a deep sleep.

.

.

.

"Hermione, dear, wake up," said Mrs. Weasley, crouching over her and running her hand along her shoulder. She sat up and groggily blinked her eyes. "It's dinner time."

"Thanks," she said, standing up and realizing that she had been alone. The sun was now setting over the Burrow, and she had to squint to see properly.

"Charlie and Percy both wanted to be here too, but they're busy with work, unfortunately," explained Mrs. Weasley.

"It's fine," replied Hermione, wondering how she could be so out of shape that walking up the hill to the tall and crooked house hindered her breathing. "It's really kind of you, to think of me and Luna too."

"Yes, well, your accomplishments deserve to be celebrated, and it wasn't too difficult to get everyone together. I did want to ask you something, Hermione." They were walking through the garden, past large bushes with bright red fruit and trellises with roses and vines snaking upon them. "Do you know where you will be living? If you needed a place to stay, in the interim, Arthur and I would be more than happy to let you live here with us, seeing as your parents..." she trailed off. "Our house is nearly empty as it is, and I have a feeling Ginny will be moving in with Harry sometime soon."

"Well, I've actually already found somewhere to live, so I think I'll be fine - but I truly appreciate the offer."

Mrs. Weasley opened up the back door and they both found that everyone was already sitting at the table inside, including Mr. Weasley. "Where is it that you  _will_ be living?" she asked, as Hermione helped her levitate the food to the table. There was roast lamb, gravy, redcurrant sauce, mashed turnip, and roast potatoes, as well as large portions of green beans, broccoli, carrots and peas. It was a veritable feast.

She noticed that everyone was paying attention to her, so she cleared her throat and said, "Well, I'm undertaking an apprenticeship at Hogwarts."

"Congratulations!" Mr. Weasley replied, good-naturedly.

"With who, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, chewing her roast lamb.

"Professor Snape. I'll be training to be a Potions master."

The mother of seven frowned slightly, while Ron laid down his fork as though he wasn't able to eat. "What an interesting choice, dear."

"Hermione's brilliant," interjected Bill. "She can do whatever she likes." She noticed that his rather large portion of the roast was nearly uncooked. "There aren't many qualified Potions masters - there's quite good money to be made in it."

"The old git hasn't been sacked yet, then?" asked George.

She turned bright red. "No, not yet," she said, smiling and giving a dry laugh.

"Well, this looks delicious, Molly," said Mr. Weasley as he eyed his plate. "And, it's good to see you Hermione." His hair had lightened considerably, and he was balding a little more than he had been.

She smiled and sat down between him and Harry. Across from her were the Lovegoods, Ron, Bill, and Fleur. Mrs. Weasley sat at the other head, listening to George, Angelina, and Ginny discuss Quidditch. After a bit of silence, Mr. Weasley asked Luna what she would be doing.

"I enjoy exploration – I take after my mum, you know – and I would like to discover new magical species. Daddy's already made several discoveries, so I'll have large shoes to fill. Especially because he does have rather large feet."

George and Ron sniggered while Mrs. Weasley coughed slightly and began clearing the table. She brought out a large cake, which was an intricate replica of the Hogwarts castle, complete with Quidditch pitch and a section of the lake. Everyone was very impressed, and she looked rather pleased with herself.

"Girls, which parts would you like?"

"The pitch!" exclaimed Ginny. On an aside to Hermione and Luna, she said, "It's a tradition every year that the graduate gets to choose their favorite part of the castle to eat, and the pitch was never left for me!" Then, to her mother, she said, "No, only half – the other part's for Harry."

"I'll take the Astronomy Tower," said Luna. "I found that my thinking was always clearest up there, particularly because Nargles are frightened of extreme heights." Mrs. Weasley cut her a slice which must have required magic to stand up, for it was much taller than it was wide.

"The library," Hermione requested. She was given not only the fourth floor but also the fifth, sixth, and seventh, which were colored to look like cross sections into the rooms and corridors. Only the most obvious features – such as statues, bookcases, and doors – were apparent. Still, the amount of detail was incredible, and she told Mrs. Weasley so.

"I've had years of practice," she said, smiling. "Now, Xenophilius, which portion would you like?"

"The Owlery, in the West Tower. Lovely things, owls are. Very personable, always good for a chat. I never kept the window open, though, and one day... Poor, poor Lucine," he sniffed.

"Arthur?"

"The Great Hall, of course."

"As always. Bill?"

"The Headmaster's office, I guess, since Percy's not here and he would usually take that..."

"Fleur?"

"I'll pass – ze dinner was razzer reech for me." She patted her completely flat stomach, as though suggesting she was full, and flipped her long hair back over her shoulder.

"Me and Angelina will take the Hospital Wing – spent as much time in there as in Filch's office."

"Ron?"

"Gryffindor Tower." He too was cut an enormously tall sliver of cake. His mother took the kitchens and Entrance Hall.

"Our time at Hogwarts was wonderful, wasn't it, Arthur?"

"Of course, dear."

"Do you remember that one time, when you and I snuck out at night and you were caught by-"

"Apollyon Pringle?" interjected Ginny.

" _Your poor father still has the scars_ ," imitated George, and everyone around the table was giggling.

"We know, Mum, you've told us a million times," added Ron.

Mrs. Weasley scowled at them and said, "I'd rather you all had only one or two rule-breaking stints. You gave us heart attacks, regularly."

"Maybe George and Ron would've benefited from some corporeal punishment like Dad did," Bill joked good-naturedly.

"They might not be too old for a lesson," said Mrs. Weasley, her lips thin. "And while we're eating dessert, Arthur and I should give you girls your gifts." She pulled out her wand and sent a package flying onto the table near Luna.

"I can't remember the last time I received a  _present_ ," said Luna, in awe. She opened the small yellow box and pulled out a hideously orange piece of jewelry covered in white runic symbols.

"Fascinating!" exclaimed her father. "Perhaps there is some sort of code..." Xenophilius peered over her shoulder, and began mumbling under his breath. "Holly... goosebumps... vertigo..."

"It's a  _brooch_ , Luna, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, cocking her head with an expression of bewilderment on her face which she was trying to conceal. "Oh, never mind. Your turn, Hermione."

She was sent a package in a similar fashion, this one slightly larger than Luna's and in a tolerable shade of brown. "You needn't have gotten me anything, I hardly deserve-"

"It's not every day you graduate at the top of your class. Now, open it," she insisted. Hermione unwrapped the bulky package patiently, tearing away the paper to reveal a camera with a large lens and cloth strap to put around her neck.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed.

"I visited the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office the other day – I still enjoy a chat with Perkins every once in a while, though he has gone rather deaf – and he was going on about this. Someone brought in a Muggle camera that had been bewitched to cause the subject of the picture to fall unconscious when their picture was taken. We've removed the enchantments and charmed it so that you won't have to meddle with developing the pictures – they'll come out directly from the base of the camera."

"It's wonderful," she said, looking over the buttons. She smiled to herself when she considered taking a photograph of Severus – he would be furious!

Mrs. Weasley had a large smile on her face when she turned to her daughter, trying to contain her excitement. "Ginny, your father and I are rather proud of your accomplishments, and we know that you'll do wonderfully, whatever you decide to do." At the flick of Mrs. Weasley's wand, a broomstick flew down the stairs and hung over the table, a blue ribbon tied around the dark mahogany handle.

"Mum... Dad... it's the new Windcharmer!" she exclaimed, barely able to believe it, her eyes wide as though she felt that it would disappear if she blinked.

"Better zan my Mistral," said Fleur, looking slightly envious.

"That's top-notch!"

"Don't get too upset George, you might've gotten something too if you hadn't dropped out," his mother chided, still looking pleased with herself. "It's an upgrade on the Firebolt. We've been saving up for it, and Harry helped a lot too." He grinned at Ginny, his eyes watching her glowing face through his round glasses.

"Mum, Dad, can I take it out?" she asked breathlessly. Without a word her mother sent it flying towards the back door. Ginny jumped out of her chair and mounted the back of the broom, opened the door and flew out over the field behind the Burrow. Nearly everyone else leapt out of their seat to leave the house and watch her doing loop-the-loops in the sky. While George was begging his little sister to let him have a go, Hermione ascended the creaking wooden stairs and entered Ginny's room to place her camera with the rest of her things. When she turned to leave, Ron was standing in the doorframe.

Hermione sat down on Ginny's bed, unsure of what to say. "Er... how is the Auror training going?"

"I'm giving it up," he said decidedly. "I've broken my arm five times, failed half my assignments, and been Stupefied more times than I can count. It's always been Harry's thing, not mine." He sat on the bed and looked down at his jeans before staring at the floral print of Ginny's bedspread.

"Well, what are you going to do, then?" She shifted around uncomfortably – they were dancing around the obvious issue, the thing he had come upstairs to talk to her about.

"Help George with the shop, I guess. He's had trouble with managing it, since Fred..." They didn't speak for what seemed like a brutally long time, before Ron brought up, "I never thought you were that interested in Potions."

"Well, things have changed," she responded.

And just like that, the tension between them snapped. "I'll say. I'm sure Snape wants more than just an apprenticeship." Despite herself, she turned a brilliant crimson. He sat up straight and shifted away from her, a look of disgust and horror on his face. "Merlin's saggy left-"

"Ronald!"

"-you really are doing it with him!"

"No, listen-"

"Bloody hell! And I told Ginny you'd never sink that low. You've always hated him, too!" He now stood up as though he couldn't bear the thought of sitting next to her, and was pacing angrily.

"That's not-"

"I'm sure he's got you under some sort of spell, or potion, that sodding git-"

"Stop it!" she shouted. "I've had it with your self-centered, childish behavior, and the tension between us! We'll never be friends again if you don't get over the fact that I  _don't_   _want_ to date you. As for me, things aren't going to change. I'm not what you need, and you had best just start looking for someone else. I'm not even a good catch - I'm not very sensible, or nice, or pretty, or even very tolerable. You're acting like a baby!" she exclaimed.

"But Snape-"

"My relationship with him is my own business." At this, his face went a sickly shade of green. "I would have told you – I want to be able to tell you things – but I couldn't, I can't." She rose and he moved as if to stop her from leaving the room. She drew out her wand, pointed it at him, and threatened, "If you follow me, I'll hex you so badly that Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex will seem tame!"

She quickly left the house and walked through the gardens, looking up and watching Harry and Ginny, a hundred feet off the ground, pass around a small Snitch as they talked. Everyone else was on sitting in chairs in the orchard and talking, or lying on their back, stargazing. Fleur and the baby had already left, and Ron was now sitting next to George. Hermione sat next to a bush and against the low stone wall surrounding the orchard, pulling her legs up to her chest. Why did Ron have to ruin such an enjoyable evening?

She looked up and noticed the waning moon, before hearing light footsteps come down the path behind her. Luna wordlessly sat down beside her, and when Hermione looked over at her she noticed how the moon glinted off of her large, luminous eyes. She was still wearing her graduation robes and hat.

After a while, Luna said, lightly, "I heard about you and Professor Snape."

Hermione blanched. "Who told you?"

"Ginny – but don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want." Hermione leaned her head back against the wall, mentally making a note to never tell Ginny anything ever again. Luna also tilted her head and looked back up at the sky, as though happy that she had told her, and Hermione wondered if that was all she was going to say. She could never tell with her – she was so peculiar. However, Luna said quietly, "I just wanted to let you know that I think it's sweet."

"What?" Hermione asked, in disbelief, looking at her.

"I'm sure he's been awfully alone all of his life. And a lot of times, when people are alone, they can become rather bitter. He is a bit unkind, sometimes. But everyone deserves to be loved," she said, not taking her eyes from the sky.

Hermione looked down at the ground and smiled to herself. "Thank you, Luna." Suddenly, she heard Ginny sobbing. Hermione stood up, watching her and Harry drift down in circles to the ground.

"Ginny, what happened?" shouted Mrs. Weasley, who had gotten up out of her chair, fear on her face, and ran up to her daughter. Harry, however, was beaming, and Ginny had her arms around his neck as he held out a Snitch – the one Dumbledore had left him – to show it open, a small ring lying inside.

"Harry pro-proposed!" she cried, and everyone cheered. She started laughing in spite of herself, brushing her wet hair away from her face. Everyone surrounded the couple, hugging them both.

Her mother was in tears, hugging her daughter before stepping aside and proudly watching everyone swarm around them. She embraced her husband without taking her eyes from Ginny. "Can you believe it, Arthur?"

"Of course I can." His tongue pushed against the side of his cheek, looking like a young boy with a secret. "Harry asked my permission last week."

"And you  _didn't tell me_!" she shrieked shrilly. Hermione smiled at them, happy for her friends. She had always assumed that they would get married, but she didn't expect it to happen so soon. Ron also seemed excited for his sister and best friend, even though Hermione remembered how much he had disliked the thought of them at the beginning. At least he had gone on to accept it, which made her feel better about her and Severus – perhaps he would come around in the end. She really did care about Ron, but he was making it difficult for her.

She hugged Harry, pressing her cheek to his. "That was clever of you," she said, smiling at him.

"I guess," he responded, giddy and unable to stop looking at Ginny.

"Hold on – could you tell me what time it is?"

"What? Oh." He looked down at the watch that Mrs. Weasley had given to him on his seventeenth birthday. "Nearly half-past ten."

"Oh, I've got to go!" she said, quickly hugging him again as George mussed his hair. She quickly jogged up the hill, but not before saying to the Weasley parents, "Thank you for everything!"

Soon enough, she had changed back into her graduation outfit, thrown powder into the hearth and, after being consumed in flames, stepped out into Severus's living room. He was sitting in the armchair, dressed in his grey nightshirt and reading a book. He looked at her over the bridge of his nose, and she wordlessly sat down in his lap after he placed his book on the table beside him. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and threw her white hat to the settee, resting her back against one arm of the chair and her feet against the other.

"Tell me what the matter is," he said, knowing from the look on her face that something was not quite right.

She shook her head. "It's just... Ron."

"I couldn't  _imagine_  Mr. Weasley acting out of line." His fingers had found the clasp to her cape, which he undid, tossing it over the arm of the sofa.

"He knows about us," she said, letting him loosen her tie and place it next to the cape, "and he's angry at me."

"I'd imagine is more jealous than angry. It's hardly worth the effort to worry."

She put her head against his shoulder and ran her fingers in circles over the buttons of his nightshirt. "It's just... every time I see him he makes me feel terrible. He's always been jealous of me being with someone else."

"I don't see why you're telling me."

"Who else am I supposed to tell? Crookshanks?"

"I wasn't suggesting you tell anyone. Mr. Weasley has simply allowed himself to be overcome by his emotions. It's clear that you cannot change how he feels; perhaps it's better to forget about it altogether." The feel of his fingers lightly running across her arm subdued her. "Maybe you should go take a shower, and then come to bed."

"Let me... let me put some of these things away first," she said. She had moved out, and now all of her possessions were scattered throughout Severus's normally tidy chambers. Severus begrudgingly had allowed Crookshanks to stay, demanding that the cat would have to spend most of its time prowling the surrounding dungeons and as little time as possible in his presence, although the cat didn't seem to mind. But Hermione felt guilty about the mess, and even though it was nearly time to go to bed she felt that the least she could do was clear out her trunk.

Hermione summoned it, sat on the floor, and dug through it, separating out the things she would keep and those she would throw away. There were many empty ink bottles that immediately went into the bin, as well as torn up sheets of parchment and old Revealers. She couldn't just yet part with the DA coins, but the Quibbler with the article "Harry Potter Speaks Out at Last" quickly joined the rest of the papers in the bin. There was also a tiny box with the earrings she had worn to the Yule Ball, the periwinkle dress now long gone. Her purple beaded handbag was stuffed into a sock in the bottom of the chest, among several other articles of clothing.

She stood up and levitated her trunk, moving it to the floor of Severus's closet. He stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at old boxes stacked high upon shelves. His capes, long robes, and cloaks, all black, hung from their hangers. Beside them were several shorter ones, which constituted Hermione's entire non-Muggle wardrobe.

"We'll have to do something about that," he said, as though he had read her mind, closing the closet door with his hand. He watched her enter the bathroom before sitting in bed and summoning the book he had been reading.

When she was finished she climbed into bed beside him, waiting until he put away the book before wrapping her arm around his stomach and saying, "Ginny and Harry are engaged." Her throat had unexpectedly tightened around the words, and she turned red.

"You seem upset."

"No, no. I'm not, really." She pressed her fingers against his slightly rounded stomach. She was always in a state of suspended disbelief when near him, wanting to make sure that he was really there, that he wasn't just a dream. Most of the time he reciprocated, his hand generally finding her hip and squeezing it as though he too had difficulty believing she lay there with him.

"Goodnight," he murmured, rolling on top of her and kissing her for the first time since she had come back.

"Goodnight," she whispered, as his cheek pressed against hers and his lips found the side of her neck. A shiver ran through her. She softly kneaded his shoulders with her hands and he relaxed above her, and although he was heavy it was not at all uncomfortable to feel his weight upon her or to have his curtain of hair tickle the underside of her throat. She knew, however, that it would be a long time before she fell asleep.


	14. Lost in Time

"You needn't do this for me," said Hermione. "I could buy my own things. I don't-"

"Don't be difficult." Severus led her through a dark alleyway and then onto a broader, busier street in the wizarding district of central London. It was raining slightly, the kind of slow drizzle that could go on for days, the drops pattering upon their heads and those of the people rushing before them. Hermione was in an area she had never visited, and she was twisting her head, wanting to see everything. "You're in a rather poor financial situation," Severus continued.

"I don't like to take charity."

"It's hardly charity. Has it ever crossed your mind that, perhaps, I wished to do something for you?" His voice was low as if he was attempting to keep his identity hidden, but it did not seem as if anyone had noticed them. He opened the door to Gillegrey's Gowns, let her walk in first, and quickly joined her inside.

The shop had a low ceiling, and the only light came from candles suspended in mid-air. It was not very wide but, as far as Hermione could see, there were hundreds of dresses and robes hanging along the stone walls. A young witch in blue robes with brown trim stood up from behind the desk, smiling to greet her customers until she realized who they were.

"Hello, P-professor," she said, noticeably frightened of Severus, before nodding her head at Hermione. She had to try not to smile. The woman had obviously been a student of his and did not expect – or want – to have seen him again.

"Good afternoon, Miss Harris.” His lips were tight, the smallest of smirks lingering at the corners of his mouth. “My apprentice needs to be fitted for a new wardrobe," he instructed.

"Yes, sir. Right away." She was a little shorter than Hermione, with light brown hair tied into a bun, green eyes, and comely features now rather strained with fright. "Come with me, please."

Hermione looked up at Severus, who seemed rather pleased with himself. She followed Miss Harris to the middle of the shop, noticing all the different fanciful gowns that she passed, some rather plain and others in bright colors or floral prints, decorated with ribbons, buttons, belts, and ruffles. The employee had her stand on a pedestal and, as Madam Malkin had, used magical measuring tape to take her measurements. She always kept Hermione between herself and Severus, and he sat down upon a chair, looking very out of place next to a mannequin sporting a gown that continuously changed color.

"Do you have a preference of style, or color?" asked Miss Harris, sticking her wand into her bun and looking from Hermione to Severus.

His elbow was resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers pressed to his chin. "Perhaps you should go with her and tell her what it is you like."

Hermione nodded, feeling a bit more in her element than Severus was. Before they had walked away, another assistant, who had been digging around in the far reaches of the store, appeared. She was older and plumper than Miss Harris, with a kind expression on her face.

"Mrs. Henry, a pleasure to meet you," she said, shaking Hermione's hand. Several white feathers were sticking out of her hair and along her collar, making her look like a mother hen. "What is it that you're looking for?"

"Um… just something simple and hard-wearing."

"You would look nice in a light blue, or gold," babbled Mrs. Henry. "Pink, perhaps? You're so pretty, dear, you could wear anything." Hermione nearly rolled her eyes.

"We are here to purchase work robes, not gowns for strolling in the garden," Severus interjected, to her relief.

"Of course. A dark hunter green, or midnight blue, would be most functional. How about a nice eggplant, dear? It would bring out those lovely brown eyes of yours. We have self-ironing robes, as well as stainless and flame retardant. Come along, I'll show you the selection we have to choose from." She bustled over to the back and Hermione followed, trying not to get lost in the swell of fabric surrounding them.

After going through what seemed like hundreds of gaudy, ridiculous robes she found several that were more appropriate to her taste and their function. She entered the dressing room near which Severus sat and tried on a dark burgundy, almost wine-colored robe. It fit her well, and the color was nice. There were robes in an entire spectrum for her to choose from, but she felt that she looked best in dark greens, blues, purples, and even burnt orange. She also tried on several traveling cloaks in different colors, deciding on getting only two in the end.

Miss Harris had long ago disappeared, and Mrs. Henry was all too happy to ring up the sale which had taken over an hour to complete. She bid the pair goodbye, telling them to come back soon. Hermione carried two small bags into which they had magically fit all twenty-some items Severus had bought for her. He seemed quite relieved to have left the store, and did not appear to wish to repeat the experience anytime soon.

"We have somewhere to visit," he said as they stepped into the rain. He pulled the hood of his traveling cloak over his head and watching as she did the same with her new red cape.

"Where?" she asked, only to feel his forearm press itself under hers as he readied to Disapparate.

"Leaving so soon, my dear friend?" came a silky, light voice from behind them. Chills surged down Hermione's back, and Severus dropped his hand to his side before quickly turning around.

"Lucius." The man in front of them stood tall and elegant with his hand resting on his cane, a black hood pulled over his head, his graying hair gracefully swept back into a low ponytail. He was dressed in light blue robes, a white necktie with ruffles cascading down his front, and a gold chain ran across his chest, affixed at both ends to his cloak. "Out for a stroll among the commoners? The fresh air must be a bit of a novelty to you," Severus taunted, quietly. Lucius's eyes lingered over Severus's, and then Hermione's.

"I could say the very same to you, Severus. You are looking particularly pallid." Severus did not comment, his black eyes penetrating the cold grey ones in front of him, his face stone-like as he watched Lucius step closer. "I am pleased to see you have finally decided to take your health into consideration." His gaze shifted to Hermione and back. "Odd company you are keeping these days. What could compel you to consort with a girl half your age? Potter's playmate, no less.” He nearly hissed the words, his distaste tangible. "How far you have fallen - if only the Dark Lord could see you now..."

Hermione's hand moved to her wand as she watched Severus's rage grow. "And how far have you fallen, Lucius? It’s fascinating how deeply you still care what your old master would have thought, considering how quickly you discard him when it suits you," he spat, edging in front of Hermione. “I’m surprised you were so keen to leave Azkaban, considering how many of your friends are still there. I can only hope that it is not too long before you grace them with your presence once more."

"I  _ earned _ my freedom," he said coolly. "Potter  _ vouched  _ for yours. How disgraceful, to fall to your knees before him and beg for mercy to not be thrown into Azkaban-"

"You know as well as I that this would not be the first time you have merely allowed the Ministry a glimpse into your vault at Gringotts to find your way out of trouble. There is hardly any honor in that." He stood less than a foot away from Lucius, his jaw tight and his expression livid.

"I cannot recall you ever having been concerned with  _ honor, _ Severus," he sneered. "I fear you have been spending too much time around Gryffindors." Lucius shifted his weight from one leg to the other and smiled wolfishly. "As to the power of money, it is a notion that has never been lost on myself. A notion that, perhaps, you yourself have never been able to take advantage of." Severus had become completely still. Hermione touched her left hand to his back, through his cloak, trying to calm him. She could tell his hand was on his wand, ready to draw it out at a moment's notice. "It would be most prudent to not lose your temper, Severus," Lucius warned, sweetly.

"Severus, please," Hermione whispered. She did not know what he might do, and she could not bear for him to be goaded into losing control.

Before turning away, Lucius remarked, "You would do best to listen to Potter's friend. It’s better to run with your tail between your legs than to risk injury in a duel, although I wouldn't particularly mind seeing some harm befall your Mudblood-"

In an instant, Severus's wand was underneath Lucius's chin, their eyes level. "Say that word again,” he seethed, “and I wouldn't mind going to Azkaban for something… unforgivable." Lucius stood there, his fingers pressed against the head of his cane until they turned white, and then left without another word.

Several witches and wizards nearby had been watching them covertly, and as Lucius walked away, they quickly dispersed.

Severus wordlessly held out his arm and Hermione placed her hand on top of his. They Disapparated, and when Hermione opened her eyes they were standing in the lounge of an old, terraced house. It was dark inside - the front windows had been boarded up - and she could hear the rain pouring down outside. Severus illuminated the tip of his wand as she did the same.

"You needn’t have done that," she said, setting her bags on the floor. "It's just a word."

He held his wand out to the side, looking around the room and then at her. "You don't know Lucius."

She could tell he had been unnerved by this encounter. His face was paler than usual, and he seemed distracted, lost in his thoughts.

He was angry. Angry at Lucius for having nearly caused him to lose control, angry at himself for nearly having given him the satisfaction, and mostly for having put Hermione in danger. No, Lucius would not have attacked her in the street, but he knew she was involved with Severus. He would have gleaned enough from their interaction to suspect the truth. And the truth, once out, was impossible to take back.

Hermione focused on where they were. To their left was a steep staircase which disappeared into the blackness of the second story, and through a small hallway running alongside the staircase was a kitchen. The light of her wand swept over the floor then up to the ceiling, which was covered in cobwebs. It was obvious that no one had lived here in many years. The air was damp and musty, as though the doors and windows had not been opened in a long time. The floorboards creaked under her feet as she walked toward the stairs.

"I know where we are... I've been here before. I just can't remember where it is." She inspected the room they were in. There was a large armchair, threadbare sofa, and fireplace on one side, and the walls were covered in shelves filled with leather-bound books. From the ceiling hung a wrought iron lamp, and Severus lit the candles within it. Hermione stowed her wand, looking through the shelves as Severus watched her.

On one shelf, behind several nondescript books, there was a small oval picture frame lying on its back, the front covered with dust. "Can I?" she asked, motioning to pick it up. He nodded, and she took it into her hand, wiping away the thick layer of grime. It was a Muggle photograph in an orange-yellow hue, mottled with green mold. In the picture was a young boy with shoulder-length black hair, a scowl on his face. It was Severus. "This is you," she said, incredulously, realization dawning upon her. "And this was your home."

She looked at him, and he simply nodded at her. Her eyes went back to the picture. There were his high cheekbones, yes, and his hooked nose. His pointed chin. His black eyes were piercing, even then. He was leaning against a metal fence, arms crossed, his face sour as though his play had been rudely interrupted on behalf of this photograph. She noticed a bruise along one hand, an abrasion along the other. She hoped that they were the normal boyhood scrapes, and nothing more sinister.

"Why are we here?" she asked, replacing the photograph so that it stood vertically.

His hand rested upon the back of the sofa, the light from the ceiling causing the area under his eyes to seem darker than usual. "I visit at the beginning of every summer. I promised my mother to maintain ownership of the house, and wizarding law mandates that a property must be occupied once a year for it to not be considered abandoned."

"Why would she want to keep it?"

"My mother is somewhat sentimental, perhaps too much for her own good. It has, however, proven useful at certain points in the past." Hermione was walking the length of the bookshelves, discovering several other pictures of an awkward, skinny boy in clothes that were the wrong size and hair that was too long. It upset her slightly that they were taken by a Muggle camera, for she would have given anything to see him running around or crossing his arms as he scowled. There were no pictures of Eileen or Tobias, alone or together; not even a wedding picture. The Severus within the room stood rigidly, as though he could not relax within these walls.

When she had finished they walked up the stairs, Severus leading and Hermione following, both holding out their lit wands in front of them. He had to bend his head forward a little so as not to bump it against the ceiling. Hermione could hear the rain buffeting against the roof as they stood together on the landing, observing the old wallpaper peeling from the walls and marks where photo frames had once hung. The floor beneath them was a grey, stained carpet that had, in some places, pulled away from the floorboards. Hermione hadn't seen a house in such bad shape since she'd aided Mrs. Weasley in the effort to clean up Grimmauld Place.

Severus walked up to the thin wooden door to the right of the stairs and turned the knob, ducking his head under the doorway as he crossed the threshold. In front of her was an old, moth-eaten mattress sitting in a frame. There were dead bugs shriveled on the floor, having fallen from the spider webs on the ceiling. Severus's face was devoid of emotion, blank as though he was entirely removed from the scene, but he did not lower his wand.

Hermione, however, felt gutted. She had been in this room before, in the way it was thirty years ago. "It's your room," she murmured, sadly. There was nothing, however, except an empty closet, a bed, and a dresser. The window was small and boarded over, as the rest were. She laid her hand on the knob of a small drawer and pulled, not surprised to see that it held nothing inside, and yet still inquiring, "Why is there nothing here?"

"It was all thrown out – it was not my choice. When my mother was sent to St. Mungo's, my father came back and rid the house of everything of ours." He stood over the small bed, noticing an old rat's nest in the stuffing of the mattress.

"But how could he do that?" she asked. "They were your things!"

His hand reached out and gently touch the metal bed frame, watching as the rust crumbled under his fingertips. "They were just things."

"But your father didn't stay, did he?"

Severus shifted his weight, causing the wood to creak. "No, he did not."

"Where did you go when your parents weren't here? You weren't even out of school yet!"

"I was an adult – I had turned seventeen that January – and the house was legally mine. I didn't mind living here by myself for a summer." She felt a bitter surge of sadness, as forceful as a hand gripping tight at her throat. At the age of seventeen, he had been deserted, completely and utterly alone.

He motioned to leave, and they walked together down the narrow hallway parallel to the staircase. "The water closet and the bathroom," he said, gesturing towards two doors behind them. "I have not been in either room for years, and I am fairly certain a boggart has settled in under the sink." He opened another door which was in front of them and stepped into his parents' bedroom, again expressionless.

Her eyes gazed upon the old bed and dresser as she walked through the room. She opened the closet door and found it completely empty – not a scrap of paper remained from its past tenants. The memories she had seen in the Pensieve were just ghosts of the past.

Hermione sat on the floor, between the bed and closet, and heard a distant rumble of thunder. "Are you ill?" he asked, noticing the paleness of her face.

"I don't know." She closed her eyes and let the silence fill the air between them as she thought. "No – it just seems very real, and very unreal, at the same time. It's hard to believe someone grew up here," she said, thinking of how little the home was, how dark, how dreary. How he, and his mother, had been abused by his father within these walls. The unfairness of it all. "It's hard to believe that  _ you  _ grew up here." Her eyes found his. "You deserved more than this."

"What’s done is done," he said, crossing the room and standing at her feet. "Let us go." He held out his hand to help her up and she accepted, but when she placed her right foot to steady herself it slipped, sliding forward slightly with the floorboard. Once she was safely on two feet both she and Severus bent down to inspect it.

"This board is smaller than the rest," Hermione noted. It had slid horizontally in such a way that she could push her thumb against the exposed edge to lift it. She did so, placing the piece of flooring to the side and pulling out her wand to see what was underneath. Sitting in the space below was a book, stacks of letters, and a small box. " _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ," she whispered, levitating all of the objects and depositing them onto the surrounding floor. “What do you think-” she began to ask, picking up the book and opening it to the first page. 

It immediately attacked her in a flurry of white paper, pulling at her hair and cutting across her hands. Severus immediately issued a countercurse from his wand, the book immediately falling to the floor with a loud thump and lying still.

Hermione was frightened out of her wits. “Why would _ anyone _ -”

“Your hands,” Severus asked, pulling them into his and looking them over as she trembled slightly from shock. He tapped his wand to her flesh and watched the cuts stitch back together slowly. “You should be more careful! That spell may be decades old and it was still effective.”

“Why should I have expected it to be cursed?” she retorted, withdrawing her hands before running the palm of one along the healed back of the other.

“You should always be cautious when handling another witch’s or wizard’s things.” Hermione looked up at him sheepishly. “You were supposed to learn that after meddling in my Pensieve the first time.” He muttered several countercurses in the direction of the objects, watching them turn slightly red and then fade back to normal. “You should be able to handle them now.” 

She watched Severus pick up the book and rest its spine on his knee, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read. "It's a journal," he said. Hermione slid over to sit next to him, eyeing the thin script which filled the yellowed pages. "It's dated from the beginning of her marriage until she was placed in St. Mungo's."

"She couldn't have written in it often, then. It's not that thick."

"No," he said, flipping back through the pages. "Only once every few months."

She picked up the stack of about twenty letters which were tied together with string, scanning through them and noticing that they were nearly all addressed by the same neat hand. Out of curiosity, she opened it up and read the signature. "Dumbledore?" she asked. "What business would he have had with your mother?"

Severus flicked his wand in the direction of the letter she held in her hands, causing it to fold up. "We will look through those at a later time." 

He rose to his feet and helped her to her own, pointing his wand at the objects she had recovered and levitating them before replacing the floorboard where it had been. They made their way down the steep stairs together, then walked through the hall and into the kitchen.

Severus set the pile of items on top of the kitchen table and watched Hermione's eyes scan the room. She recalled his mother's memory of teaching him how to brew potions in this room, at the very stove he was resting his hand near. Several of the cabinets were open, empty as the rest of the house was, and the space where the refrigerator would fit was vacant. The walls were covered in a light green paper decorated with different vegetables and herbs.

"I think it’s best to go now – you must be hungry for dinner," he said, looking around the kitchen as the thunder rumbled once more.

"A little," she admitted, looking out into the hallway before realizing something. "You have a cupboard under the stairs?" she asked, walking out and kneeling down next to the small door, opening it carefully.

"Yes; I spent many rainy weekends as a child hidden in there. My father never thought to look for me in a cupboard.” He looked wary. “Hermione, what are you doing?"

It was almost laughable, how ironic it all was. "Did you know that Harry's uncle and aunt forced him to live in the cupboard under  _ their _ stairs?" He didn't respond.

Several moths fluttered out as she crawled into the small space underneath. She conjured a fat candle and lit it, requiring more light in order to see. She leaned back against the brick wall, careful not to sit in any cobwebs. Severus, to her surprise, knelt down and crawled in beside her. His head almost touched the low ceiling as he sat, his back against the wall, both pairs of their legs sticking out into the small hallway. She placed her left hand on his forearm, stroking it fondly, but also seeking comfort. He summoned the little box from the kitchen table and let it fall softly into her lap.

A crack of lightning struck nearby, the following thunderclap causing the floor beneath them to shake, but it didn't deter Hermione from feeding her curiosity. The square box she held was made of wood and painted black, a small silver latch at the front holding it closed. She flipped it up carefully and looked inside, and on top sat a small rubber ball which she handed to Severus.

"Yours?" she asked, watching his nod. There was also an incredibly small stuffed bear, no bigger than her thumbnail. As it lay in her palm he tapped it with his wand, and it grew to normal size. "He's adorable," she cooed, looking over the light grey bear, his left eye missing. There were also several shells of interesting shapes, as well as bits of sea glass.

"We went to Scarborough when I was young, when we had family holidays."

"I could hardly imagine you at the beach," she said, smiling to herself.

"I can't say I remember it very well."

The brick behind them rattled again with the thunder, and Hermione ignoring it as she pulled out the rest of the contents. On top was the letter containing Eileen Prince's N.E.W.T. results. "'Outstanding' and 'Exceeds Expectations' in everything."

"My mother was quite a bright witch."

"And here are yours," she said, as she inspected the old parchment. "Only an 'Acceptable' in Charms?" she asked, puzzled.

"It never suited me," he explained, slightly defensive.

"Now I understand your predisposition against 'foolish wand-waving' and 'silly incantations.'" He glared at her darkly, and she blushed.

Hermione unfolded a piece of parchment, and to her delight, she found a card which had been decorated with several flowers. "Look what you drew her for her birthday," she teased, noticing the message scrawled at the top. Underneath were letters Severus had sent her from Hogwarts, as well as his acceptance letter. She stopped and found, at the bottom, several more pictures. There was a young Severus sitting on a swing-set in jeans and a thick red duffle coat. In another picture, he sat on the kitchen table with a large wooden spoon in his mouth. There was a small snapshot of him as an infant, asleep in his bed. "I can't believe you had your nose, even that young," she commented.

"My father's nose," he responded, with a faint tone of disgust.

She wondered if that was why he didn't seem to care about his appearance. She hated to think that perhaps every time he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of his father. "What happened to him?" she asked.

He did not speak and she looked up at him, watched as his expression became withdrawn and embittered. "I cannot say now, Hermione. Perhaps another time." Deep within, she knew that something of great consequence had happened that he didn't want to tell her, but she did not wish to push. If anything, the past few months with him had taught her that some of his answers would come not with questions, but with time.

The final photograph she held was of Eileen. She was sitting on a chair, her dark hair parted down the middle and tossed over one shoulder. Her large, dark eyes stared out from her long face, and her thin hands clutched a plump toddler that did not smile but instead looked glumly up at the camera with his black eyes. Hermione stared at the picture, lost within it. It almost physically hurt her, to realize how little she had known about the beginnings of this man whom she loved. She wanted so much more than these tiny glimpses he gave her, but at the same time she knew what pain it must bring him to reflect upon it. She wanted to understand how this chubby-cheeked baby had evolved into someone who, even for a short period of time, would have aligned himself with the darkest wizard of all time.

Hermione lowered the photo and replaced everything as she had found it, including the bear which she shrunk down to size so it would fit. She handed the box to Severus.

"My mother will enjoy seeing these again," he remarked.

Hermione pressed her cheek to his shoulder and ran her thumb over his hand, which she had taken in hers. "Why would your mother leave them here?"

"Perhaps she hid them, to safeguard them." 

“And never retrieved them?”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. 

After a few moments of silence, she squeezed her fingers which were threaded through his. “I’m sorry, about earlier,” she said, sheepishly. At his unsure expression, she explained, “The book... picking it up. I did it without thinking.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about.” He bit his bottom lip, looking away and appearing uncharacteristically unsure. After a pause, he explained quietly, “I just want you to be safe.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “I know,” she replied, also looking away. “I guess sometimes, it’s…” She began again. “Sometimes, I forget that bad things can still happen to me, when I’m with you.”

He looked down at her with an expression which was hard to discern, a mixture of affection and sadness and gratitude. His fingers squeezed hers tightly.

After some time, he let out a lungful of air, and said, "As much as I enjoy sitting in an old, cramped cupboard indulging in thoughts of my past, I think it’s time to leave." They both gathered their things, and she took a last look around as he extinguished the candles in the lamp. Severus placed the items they had discovered into one of her bags, which Hermione clutched in either hand, before they Apparated to the Hogwarts Gate.

The rain which seemed to cover all of Britain drizzled down in a fine mist. It caught at the frays of her hair, a fine dew quickly covering their cloaks, and as he used his wand to unseal the gate, several droplets fell from its tip.

They walked alongside the forest. The thick mist sifted through the trees and their branches, and they couldn't even see the castle until they were right upon it. 

As they entered the courtyard, Severus suddenly turned around. He looked down upon her, his eyes holding hers then shifting away, before finding hers once more. He then asked, quietly but certainly, "Would you like to learn the rest of my mother's story?"

Hermione looked up at him, rain dropping off of her chin and nose, hair stringy despite the hood pulled over his head. Her heart surged, and she whispered, "More than anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for abandoning you all :/ I’ve just kind of tumbled into a dark hole and have been struggling a bit recently. However, the next chapter should follow quickly, and it’s perhaps my favorite part of the whole story, so I am excited to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy xx


	15. All This Time

The rain had chilled them thoroughly. Severus lit a fire in the grate as they entered their chambers, and Hermione hung their cloaks on hooks near the doorway to dry. Two portions of steaming fish pie in enamel tins came through from the kitchens. They devoured their dinner quickly and quietly, the warmth of the meal spreading from their bellies to their limbs.

Hermione returned the plates through the fireplace, and Severus stood beside the Pensieve, pouring memories from vials into the glowing mixture and stirring with his wand. She stood next to him, the light playing across both of their faces.

"I require one of your own memories as well," he said. "The Headmaster's funeral, if you will."

She nodded, his wand at her temple. "But what would that tell me of your mother?" He extracted the memory and then tapped it into the Pensieve.

"She was there," he explained.

"And I would have noticed?"

"Perhaps not, but a Pensieve allows the viewer to explore memories in depth, so it does not matter. If she was there, it will be recorded." He took her hand in his own, brushing his thumb against her palm, before bending over into the basin.

They landed in what Hermione realized was McGonagall's office. However, it was Dumbledore, not McGonagall, sitting behind the desk. He was observing Eileen, who sat in a chair across from him, bouncing a tiny Severus on her bony knee. Her eyes were heavily bagged and dark, continuously flitting around the room as though expecting someone to jump out at her at any moment. She was dressed in a black woolen sweater and skirt, her hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Severus sported a large rounded belly, pink cheeks, and a dark head of hair. He chewed on one tiny hand while looking up at the Headmaster, as though unsure what to make of him. Hermione knelt down beside Eileen, entirely infatuated with the baby, and reached out as though to touch him. Dumbledore's hand, however, appeared through hers, pulling the infant into his arms. He did not wince as Severus gripped his beard and pulled out some reddish-grey hairs.

"He's a charming fellow. Has he shown any indication of magical ability?"

After a moment's hesitation, Eileen said, "His dummy often moves from the shelf where I left it out of his reach, and into his cot."

"Ah. We have a wizard, then." Severus's attention was focused on one of the rings Dumbledore wore on his right hand, and he attempted to grasp it with his uncoordinated fingers. When he could not, he lowered his mouth onto it, chewing gently. "His name is quite interesting – may I ask after your inspiration?"

It was here that Eileen broke down, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. "He was s-supposed to be a M-muggle,” she cried. “He was s-supposed to be my s-severance f-from the wizarding w-world. I can't - I'm f-f-frightened-"

"I am aware of your feelings on the matter. But as I have said before, I do not believe that anything would be easier if you were to succeed in adopting a life as a Muggle." She began to cry quietly into her handkerchief, unsuccessfully struggling to stifle her despair. Dumbledore carried the nine-month-old over to the paned window, allowing him to lean out and press his palms against the colored glass.

A long silence passed, during which the baby cooed and Fawkes, who sat on his perch, ruffled his feathers.

"If what you have written to tell me is true," began Dumbledore, "which I have no doubt it is... I made a grave error in judgment not asking you to explain yourself all those years ago."

"Is there anything we c-can do?" she asked, her eyes red and her face pale.

"It will not be easy to testify against Tom Riddle if there is no proof of his actions or intentions. I believe that he did, in fact, open the Chamber and cause the unfortunate events which followed, but the Ministry will be uninterested in reopening such a case unless you provide them with clear evidence." He began to hum half-heartedly, and Severus interested himself in the shiny fabric of the Headmaster's robes.

"I w-want him to answer for what he d-did. Rubeus should be readmitted a wand, and his name cleared," she said, shaking. "And Myrtle... d-do you think she'd be able to give an account of her m-murder? Maybe her word would be enough for the M-ministry to investigate."

"Myrtle has, unfortunately, been unwilling to cooperate with anyone. She has found it rather difficult to come to terms with her death, which is quite understandable for such a young spirit, and has spent her time haunting a certain Olive Hornby."

"I haven't seen her s-since she died," Eileen said, holding the handkerchief to her eye. "I don't even know how it h-happened."

"It is, perhaps, for the best." He walked towards Fawkes, whose perch was beside his desk, and offering him a small treat. "Young spirits are often confused and rather disagreeable when they lose their corporeal form. She may not be the person you remember, for she is not – ghosts are simply an impression of the person they once were." She was silent as his pained light blue eyes seemed to look straight through her. "I wish you had spoken to me sooner. It is unfortunate that Professor Dippet took Tom's word as truth, though I voiced my suspicion. If only I had acted on it more strongly..." He looked away. "It was ignorant of me to think he would attack another student for a mere diary, and for that, I am deeply sorry." He was caressing Fawkes's neck, an air of sadness about him, while the phoenix rubbed its beak against Severus's belly, causing the baby to giggle and squeal in delight.

"But if we could find his d-diary..."

"You are certain of its contents?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "When I took the diary, there were a few m-moments when I was able to look through it. I remember that he wrote down information he thought was important – spells and p-potions he planned on using, and the people he's already recruited to forward his movement. Information about Slytherin's chamber. I also remember," she said softly, "that there is a list of those who he believes, for one reason or another, stand between him and his ambition."

He looked at her knowingly. "And you are on this list?"

"Yes, sir. And so are you."

The Headmaster sat down in his chair. Severus looked up over the wooden desk at his mother, drumming his hands unceremoniously on its surface. "Tom's interest in Dark magic is not surprising to me. I am, however, surprised at the momentum of his movement. It is rumored he has left Britain, although to what end I am unsure." He stared down at the child before ruffling his hair and handing him back to his mother. "If you ever require my help, you need only ask. It is of utmost importance to keep the little one safe."

"Of course," she said, bringing him to her shoulder as he let out several small coughs, clinging to him as though he was all she had.

"Magic is a gift, Eileen. Teach him to respect his power, and to not exploit it, but above all teach him love, and teach him compassion, for these are the very lessons Tom Riddle never learned." 

She placed her son in her lap and brushed her finger across his red cheeks. The world that he had been born into was not the one she had wanted for him, and she felt that it was no one else's fault but her own. “Of course,” she whispered.

"Take care not to worry about the diary – there is a chance that it has been misplaced or discarded. It has been nearly twenty years, after all." They both stood up as she prepared to leave, a small purse dangling over one shoulder, Severus settled in her arms and quietly babbling to himself. "I very much appreciate you coming here to share your memories of Tom, Eileen. I am certain they will be most helpful." He motioned towards his fireplace, the flames of which suddenly turned green. "If you ever require help, you need only send me an owl." He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, as Eileen nodded and stepped into the flames.

Hermione's vision began to cloud, and she could no longer see the Headmaster. She blinked several times. In front of them now lay an impressive garden with large fountains and stone pathways, decorated with flowers of all colors and hedged in by manicured green bushes. To their left was a large white peacock which mewed loudly, surprising Hermione.

"Malfoy Manor," she said, taking in the sight of the large stately home beyond the gardens. Crouched below the bushes in front of them sat Eileen, hiding in the shadows and wearing green robes several sizes too large for her. She pulled out a small mirror and held it in her hands as she closed her eyes.

Hermione watched as her legs grew longer and her body broader. The rest of her body evened out in proportion, and she then held up the mirror to watch as she adjusted her facial features. Her nose extended, eyes softened to a light grey, chin became blunt, and hair changed to the brightest blond. Clutched in her square palm was a cut-out from a newspaper of the man she wished to look like. He was stood beside another man who had once been handsome but was no longer, his eyes dark and sunken. Beneath the photograph was a caption containing the names Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle.

Eileen hid both objects in her pocket and strode up the pathway, as confidently as she could manage. It was obvious she had difficulty adjusting to her new height. 

"Why did she do this?" asked Hermione, frustrated, following behind with Severus. "Didn't she know how dangerous it would be?"

"My mother is highly intelligent, but I don't believe she has made a single sensible decision in her entire life," replied Severus.

They followed her to the massive entryway of the manor, and she opened the doors without hesitating. Inside was a large antechamber, the walls covered in tapestries, portraits, and sconces, the floor a fine marble. Overhead was a giant crystal chandelier, and from the room next to them came the sound of bare feet running across the hard floor. 

A house-elf in a stained tea cozy appeared in front of them, immediately bowing over before asking, "Is there anything Dobby can bring Master?"

"Dobby!" she exclaimed softly, into Severus's ear. "He must have been going on  _ at least...  _ forty years old when I met him!" The house-elf's right ear flicked against an invisible itch as his bright green eyes stared into Eileen's.

She cleared her throat, satisfied to hear the deep tonality which issued from it, and said, "I have come home to find something the Dark Lord has left with me."

"Dobby is not supposed to know anything of his Master's relations with the Dark Lord," he said, recoiling from him as though expecting a punishment.

"It is  _ very _ important that I find it," she stressed.

"Perhaps Dobby's Master can look in the Room of Relics? Things which are to be hidden are kept there." And with that, he led Eileen through the elaborately decorated lounge and a dining room which was large enough to seat thirty. Severus followed close behind Hermione, and she felt shivers go through her as they arrived in the drawing room. She had been tortured here by Bellatrix, a little over a year ago. Or was it over thirty years from now?

The house-elf knelt on the floor and Eileen watched as he tapped three separate flagstones with his long, spindly fingers. A golden handle appeared at their intersection, and Dobby pulled at the small door to reveal a passageway.

"You are not to follow me or speak to anyone of this, Dobby. Do you understand?" she ordered. The house-elf nodded vigorously and disappeared quickly with a soft crack. Eileen descended the stairs into the room below, again followed closely behind by her unseen onlookers. During Hermione's short imprisonment in the manor, it had been converted into a prison cell, but at this time it was similar to the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts. However, instead of being filled with discarded items, it was full of dark objects and treasures of all sizes. They passed suits of armor, boxes of jewelry, and bookcases. Along the wall in front of them was an entire dragon hide, its green scales glistening in the flickering torchlight.

"Oh – the diary!" exclaimed Hermione, hurrying over to the table on which it sat. She watched as Eileen quickly found it and picked it up. She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and then looked down at it. She opened the leather-bound diary and flipped through the pages.

It was empty.

But how could it be empty? He had filled every page with clues and references in books to Salazar Slytherin, the chamber, and his own plans and spells. She madly looked through every page but found not one word within it. She set it back down. 

Hermione watched as Abraxas Malfoy's eyes welled with tears. Severus urged her back up the stairs, and they waited at the top for his mother.

As she walked out of the room and closed the trapdoor behind her, a nine-year-old boy with blonde hair and grey eyes appeared at the doorframe to the dining room. He looked up at her with mistrust. "And who are you?"

Hermione realized with horror, at the same time Eileen did, that she had Metamorphosed back into herself without meaning to. "W-wait-" she stuttered, but the boy had already run out of the room, shouting for his mother. The boy had been Lucius.

Eileen did the first thing she could think of. She darted underneath the dining room table to hide, pulling at the robes which were much too large for her so that she would not be seen.

"Dobby!" she called, frantically.

The house-elf Apparated in front of her, for he was small enough to stand underneath the table, and his large eyes took in the sight of her with awe. "Dobby did not see Miss enter the Manor, he has only seen-" Realization dawned on him as he noticed the robes she wore, and he said, "Miss broke into Dobby's Master's house! Miss has been very bad!"

"I'm s-sorry, but I'm in trouble! P-please, help me out of here!"

"Dobby can only take orders from his Master."

"P-please!" she exclaimed, now crying. "If they find me, they'll have me k-killed!"

The house-elf stuck out his bottom lip in sympathy, the tip of his long nose almost touching hers as he leaned in close. In his reedy, high-pitched voice, he said, "If Miss thinks of a place that Dobby can take her to be safe, he will." She nodded, his bony hand found hers, and they disappeared together just as the sound of hurried footsteps issued from the next room.

They appeared in Eileen's bedroom, and she threw her arms around the little creature as she wept. "Thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed.

"Dobby will have to shut his ears in the door for this," he said, beaming up at her as though he didn't mind at all.

"I'm sorry that I’ve gotten you into t-trouble. If-if there is anything I can do-"

"Dobby asks for nothing in return, Miss," he said, smiling again as he quickly Disapparated.

"So Voldemort hid his Horcrux with the Malfoys?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," said Severus. "Abraxas Malfoy, though not understanding the true meaning of the diary, would inform his son, Lucius, how to use it to reopen the Chamber of Secrets."

"By giving it to Ginny," she said.

"The Dark Lord had not forgotten how easily manipulated young girls can be."

The sitting room of Spinner's End appeared, Eileen and Severus stacking Muggle playing cards end-on-end. Her son looked to be about five years of age, his large black eyes and hooked nose almost too big for his long, thin face. 

Someone rapped on the door and the cards fell as Eileen’s concentration was broken. She got to her feet and scooped Severus into her arms, pulling him to her hip even though he was almost too large for it.

"Let me go!" he exclaimed, wriggling and pushing against her shoulder with his arms.

"Stop that," she insisted, drawing him closer and kissing his cheek. She opened the door, and Hermione looked past her to see a man dressed in black robes, a hood pulled over his head. Eileen immediately let go of her son and stood between him and the visitor, who was smirking malevolently at her. "Severus, go to your room." He stood there, looking past his mother into the face of a once-handsome man whose features were now thin and repulsive. "Now!" she pleaded, pushing him towards the staircase without looking away. He ran to the steps but sat on the third one, listening. "Why are you here?" she asked rudely, shaking with fear.

"Now, now, Eileen," he said, walking through the doorway as she backed away, cowering before him. "It is best to watch your tongue rather than to say something regrettable."

His bony fingers reached into his cloak, fingering the handle of his wand and withdrawing it from the black fabric. A red spell hit her square in the face, and she fell against the back of the sofa and to the floor, clawing at her mouth which was now sealed shut.

"That's better," he said quietly over her muffled cries, as he sat down in the armchair by the fireplace. He levitated her and moved her onto the sofa where she sat up across from him, helpless. "It was incredibly foolish of you to believe that you could deceive me, Eileen," he mocked, his voice full of poison. She could only sit still, paralyzed by fear. "Are you wandless?" he hissed. When she did not respond, he murmured, "It seems you have given up magic, but at what cost? You are no longer safe, no longer protected – and neither is your son." His eyes sharply glanced at the entrance to the staircase, and then back to her. "It would be only too easy..."

Eileen's eyes filled with tears, unable to weep aloud because of the curse he had placed on her.

"However, that was not the intention of my visit. You always were rather officious, yes, but breaking into Malfoy's was much more than I thought possible of you. Oh yes, I know," he crooned as she shook her head vigorously. "Their servant admitted to aiding you after some – coercion." She continued shaking her head, but he ignored it. "You thought you could touch Lord Voldemort's possessions without him knowing, without him feeling it instantly?  _ Crucio! _ " he shouted, and Hermione watched Eileen fall to the floor, writhing in agony but unable to scream. He lifted the spell, his victim's eyes rolling around in her head before focusing on him, watching his movements in terror. "One day, you will realize my full power. You will have learned not to meddle in things you shouldn't, for you will have lost everything you have to me.  _ Crucio! _ " he called out, and for what seemed like hours he just watched her twist and contort unnaturally from the pain, her chest heaving from the lack of air. Voldemort removed the curse once more and stood over her body, looking down at her with disgust as she closed her eyes, trying to stay conscious. "I will not kill you, for you deserve to live in your misery. I should not like to spill Pure blood, if it can be helped, even that which willingly mixes with filth. But if our paths cross once more – I will not hesitate."

He walked past her, and when he shut the door behind him her mouth opened wide as she gasped for breath, as though drowning. She sobbed and shook uncontrollably. Severus ran into her arms and allowed her to enfold him completely in her embrace. She rocked him, running her fingers through his hair, unsure what to do, terrified and hurting in every way possible.

Hermione pressed her forehead to Severus's shoulder, a pained expression upon her face. "It's not fair," she said, watching the little boy wrap his arms around his mother's neck, unsure what had happened. He had never seen magic performed in this way before. He had never realized it could be dangerous.

"The Dark Lord was more merciful to her than to others who acted similarly." She looked into Severus's face, at how pained it was, before turning back and finding that Dumbledore now stood with Eileen in the same living room.

His arm was extended, enchantments and charms passing out of his wand and into the air. Severus watched in awe, leaning against his mother's legs, his mother's face a mirror of his. Eileen's hands were on his shoulders, keeping him close.

"Well, I believe that is that," Dumbledore stated, lowering his wand, turning to face the pair. His tone was cheery, but his expression was strained. "If you remain in this house, you will be safe."

"I - I can not thank you enough." Eileen trembled, squeezing her son's shoulders.

"You are hardly the first wizarding family I have helped in this way, Eileen, and you will not be the last. If anything gives you any worry, do not hesitate to write." He paused. "Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore asked, leaning over and gently handing a yellow sweet to Severus.

The world around them spun. They now stood in the Headmaster's office, watching Dumbledore slowly transferring memories with his wand into his Pensieve, Severus perched in the chair opposite. He appeared to be twenty or so and looked particularly small in the large office, his face pale, his expression blank.

The Headmaster, now finished, turned to the young man. "As before, Severus. You must let go of your emotions." Hermione noticed that Severus sat up straighter, his fingers tightening upon the arms of the chair, a flash of fear in his eyes as he anticipated what was about to happen.

_ "Legilimens,"  _ Dumbledore commanded, pointing his wand at Severus.

Hermione, experiencing this memory through Severus's mind, saw what he had seen, flashes of his own memories. There was Tobias, looming above, a belt in his hand... Severus holding his toy bear, its stomach split open and the stuffing falling out, as tears streamed down his face... Severus sitting beneath a clump of trees, next to Lily, giggling together as the mushrooms in a circle around them began to dance... A tall, thin man in a hooded cloak looking down upon his mother, who was writhing in silent agony, as he watched...

The intrusion stopped, the Headmaster's office visible.

"Again," came Dumbledore's voice.

His memories came once more, fast. He was sitting on a bridge over a river and one of his shoes fell off, floating away in the filthy water... He was walking along Diagon Alley, his black eyes looking in all directions, in awe of it, never before realizing how many others there were like him, not hiding, not ashamed... He was a teenager, reading a Dark Arts book in his bedroom at Spinner's End, scrawling in the margins... He was at the top of a flight of stairs as a student, his foot in midair when he was suddenly hit in the back with a Full Body-Bind Curse, now falling over, helpless, sliding down the steps, his body jerking as it hit every single one on his way to the bottom...

Severus came out of it, breathless and panting, his face pale and drawn. However, he was not allowed to rest.

"Better, Severus, but not good enough. Not nearly good enough. Again."

An owl dropped a letter in front of Severus who was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and he opened it, eagerly, hoping it was news from home, before ink spurted out over him, howls of delight issuing from the Gryffindor table behind him... His mother in a ward at St. Mungo's, lying in bed, her head turned away from him in shame as he held her left hand, the other fastened to the bed so that she could not escape... In his trembling hands a paper, announcing the marriage of Lily and James Potter... He was now on his knees, begging for Dumbledore's help to save the Potters, the Headmaster's words,  _ You disgust me _ , ringing in his ears...

Severus found himself horizontal on the carpet, a pain in his shoulder. He pulled himself towards a bookcase and he sat leaning against it, shaking. He sniffed, looked down at the floor and away from Dumbledore, as silent tears formed in the corners of his eyes and began, one by one, to trickle down his face. The Headmaster withdrew an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the young man, who promptly brought it up to his hooked nose. Dumbledore placed his hands behind his back, turning to inspect an instrument whirring upon the shelf before him, waiting for Severus to compose himself.

The young man eventually got up, uneasy, silent still, his hand holding onto the back of the chair.

Dumbledore turned to him, speaking softly. "You must understand, Severus, that I am not giving you these lessons because I enjoy doing so. I could be any number of places tonight, working with others to more directly oppose Voldemort. Do you understand why we are here?"

Severus spoke, for the first time, not looking at the Headmaster. "To strengthen my mind."

"Yes, Severus, because you have been weak," he scolded, anger coloring his voice as he placed his hands firmly on his desk. "Weak to temptation, weak to power. You have willingly handed yourself to Voldemort. Because of you, he has now marked Lily Potter's son, and quite possibly Lily herself, for death." Severus's black eyes glittered in pain. "I fear you have lost your way, Severus, and I am trying my very best to ensure it does not happen again. If this plan is to succeed - and if you are to serve me - it is of utmost importance that you master yourself - utterly, completely. Every single moment, you must be aware of your mind. You must be able to perform Occlumency to such a degree that Voldemort cannot even tell you are doing so. You cannot allow yourself to slip - not even once. If you cannot control yourself, every effort we have made will be wasted. Everything depends on it - your life, your mother's life."

Severus stood, facing Dumbledore with his head still lowered, shame written across his face. The Headmaster sighed and stepped out from behind his desk, towards the young man. His hand went to Severus's thin shoulder and squeezed it. His blue eyes met the gaze of the young man's black as his chin tilted upwards.

"You have made great strides in a short period of time - better than I could have hoped." His hand left Severus's shoulder. "However, better is not good enough. If there is to be any hope, you must be exceptional. You must be extraordinary. And you must become so with great urgency. You owe them that much, Severus, those that you have so recklessly endangered. I can only do so much - the rest must come from you. There will not be another chance. Do you understand?"

Severus nodded, his hair slipping in front of his face before he quickly tucked it behind his ears.

Dumbledore moved to stand behind his desk once more. He faced Severus, his wand pointing straight at him, both tired, saddened, determined. "And so. Again."

The scene changed, and Severus stood before his other master, who was sitting in a large armchair beside a fire. The room was silent except for the crackle of the burning logs, unlit except for the dancing flames.

"You have been a good servant, Severus. The prophecy has made all the difference. Yes, all the difference," he murmured, stroking his chin with his fingers. "I believe it may be time for you, after your extensive service, to... officially join our ranks."

"I would be most honored," Severus responded, after a pause, bowing deeply. And then, with hesitation, he asked, "My Lord - if I may ask - in return for having provided the prophecy, I-"

"In  _ return?" _ he mocked, laughing cruelly. "It is  _ you  _ who serves  _ me, _ Severus - I hope you do not forget that. If I do something for you, it is not because I am beholden to you. I do nothing that  _ I _ do not wish. You know this already," he hissed.

"Of course, my Lord." He said this unflinchingly.

The silence lay heavy between them, but his interest had been piqued. "What is it that you would so boldly ask of me, Severus?"

"It is only - my mother, she is in Azkaban."

Disinterest played across Voldemort's face. "How troubling."

"She is a pure-blood witch, my Lord, imprisoned for attempting to kill a Muggle. She may even be known to you. She used to speak highly of you," he lied.

"Her name?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Eileen Prince."

"Hmm... how interesting." Voldermort steepled his fingers before clasping his hands together, lost in thought for several moments. He looked Severus up and down, as though wondering why he had never made the connection before. "I am sure that will not be a problem. We have plenty of officials within the Ministry, within Law Enforcement itself, who could commute her sentence, issue release papers. However, you see, she is... this is quite interesting, it must be said. Your mother is an old... friend of mine."

"That  _ is _ quite interesting, my Lord," agreed Severus. He swallowed hard, but Voldemort had not seen - he was staring into the fire.

"In fact, I believe I should like to see her again." His gaze now turned to lock with the young man's. "When she is released... you will bring her to me."

The memory changed once more, and they were standing on a rickety, wooden pier jutting out into the wild North Sea. Severus Apparated before them, the fierce, freezing gale whipping around his body and his cloak, tugging at the thick black scarf around his neck and tossing his hair over his shoulder. He was gaunt, his face hardened with only a thin tint of blush upon his cheeks despite the cold. He strode towards the large iron door at the base of the sheer wall, and, without looking upwards or giving a glance to the bleak, grey ocean behind him, banged his fist twice upon the entryway to Azkaban.

Moments later, the door slowly opened. Severus quickly moved to step inside but was stopped by the horror of what was before him.

It was one thing to read about them in books, to theorize what it might be like to see one, to joke about this creature as though it was as harmless as a floating pile of rags. It was quite another to stand before it - to smell its foulness, to hear its rattling breath, to stare into its empty eye sockets. Severus was not afraid. The only emotion that remained, in the pit of his stomach, was despair.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a letter, holding it at arm's length. "I am here for Eileen Prince Snape!" he shouted, over the wind.

The Dementor took the piece of parchment into its long fingers. The paper became stiff, then iced over, cracking and crumbling in the fierce gale until it was no more. The creature floated backward so that the visitor could enter.

The door clanged shut behind Severus as he stepped into a stone antechamber, finding it no warmer than outside. His breath was visible in the still air, and he turned so as to not let the Dementor out of his sight, his wand in his hand.

The creature paid him no heed. It slowly glided towards the wooden door opposite, extended its long finger, and tapped the handle thrice. The door opened and the Dementor entered the stone passageway beyond, Severus following, the corridor leading to a winding staircase that they ascended. Severus could hear groaning through the walls, although he was unsure whether it was the sound of the wind or the prisoners themselves.

Once they stopped climbing and traveled down another passageway, Severus knew they were close. He felt as though he would be sick.

The Dementor stopped outside a cell door. It extended its finger once more, tapping a specific combination on the iron which Severus, struggling to breathe, felt would never end. Finally, a handle appeared, and the Dementor curled its fingers upwards to open the door. Severus steeled himself, terrified of what he might see.

It took him several moments to realize that the small, dirty figure on the floor in front of him was that of his mother. He walked up to her, no longer concerned with the presence of the Dementor, and fell to his knees, his breath leaving his body. It was much, much worse than he had thought it would be.

"Oh, Mother," he gasped, his voice shaking. She was covered in filth, almost unrecognizable, and Severus nearly gagged from the stench of the chamberpot sitting in the far corner. She was lying curled on her side, staring blankly at the wall. She had not noticed her son enter the room. "Mum," he whispered, his hands going to her shoulder, shaking her, as he fought stinging tears. Her skin was ice cold.

Eileen slowly pulled out of her reverie, and her face turned to his.

"Tobias?" she whimpered, recoiling, as though he would strike her.

Severus looked stricken. "No, Mum, it's me, it's your son, it's Severus," he cried, his hand against her back. Her eyes searched his, saw her own staring back at her, and a glimmer of recognition lit her face.

"Severus?" she whispered, as though it was a name she had forgotten, had not heard in a very long time.

Emotion overcame him. He wept, pulling her frail body to his chest, rocking her as if she was a child. One hand went to the scarf around his neck, which he removed and wrapped around her upper body, while his other hand held her close. She looked faint. He picked her up, not wanting to spend another second in this miserable, inhumane place, and carried her past the corpse-like creature, through the corridors, down the stairs, and out into the frigid, wild wind.

Standing at the end of the wooden jetty, outlined against the bleak horizon, was a lone figure dressed in purple.

Severus soon reached him, his mother now unconscious, her head resting upon his shoulder as though she was asleep. His cloak whipped about them in the wind.

"I shall Apparate us, Severus," Dumbledore said, his arm extended. Only he knew where they were going. Severus, his face stricken with anguish, laid his forearm upon the Headmaster's.

Their vision spun and they landed in a small, cramped apartment. Severus, trembling, gently laid his mother upon a cot pushed against the wall, and then stood straight before Dumbledore.

"I have already cast a Fidelius Charm. I trust you know what that is, Severus?"

He nodded curtly.

"And, I trust you know the responsibilities of a Secret Keeper?"

"Yes," Severus assured, his eyes darting to his mother and back to Dumbledore.

"Very well, then. Voldemort cannot use Legilimency to discover this secret. It cannot be extracted by force or means of deception. As long as you tell no one, she is safe here." Severus had knelt down beside his mother, feeling her weak pulse, and Dumbledore continued. "She will stay here for some time to recover, and so that when we implement our plan in due course it will not cause any suspicion. And, Severus?"

The young man looked up at him expectantly, still holding his mother's hand in his own.

"However weak she may be physically, it is her mind that is truly delicate," Dumbledore warned. "It will take some time for her to come back to herself, and even then... You must be patient." He turned to leave, before adding, "If she should require anything, you need only send an owl. I wish you luck, Severus."

"Thank you," Severus murmured, watching as the Headmaster Disapparated.

He immediately set to work with a cauldron on the kitchen stove. The memory changed, and now he was tipping a potion into his mother's mouth, a look of relief coming to his face as some color returned to her skin. Then they watched as he laid her in the bath, the water soapy and warm. He took a sponge, the Muggle way, the way his mother used to bathe him when he was little, and cleaned the layer of filth from her skin. There was a hitch in his breath as he noticed the number tattooed upon her neck, the sign of a prisoner, indelible and permanent.

The memory changed again. She sat in a chair at the small table, weak but awake, dressed in a faded blue gown, her hands in her lap. Severus sat beside her, his thin pale face again a mirror of hers - sorrowful, repentant.

Her thin lips opened, and she stammered, "I'm s-sorry to have done this to you. I couldn't... I just c-couldn't take it anymore. One day I just... snapped. I couldn't b-bear thinking I had to spend another day washing his clothes, making his t-tea..." She shivered, her gaze vacant.

"Please, stop," he pleaded, his voice strained. "You must stop thinking of it - you will not get better until you do."

Deep down, he could not help but believe that this was all his fault. If only he had written her more, visited more, made her feel loved... maybe she wouldn't have felt so isolated. If only he had been a man and stood up to his father, protected her. If only he had been a better son, the kind that she had deserved. She had funneled all of her love into him, and to what end?

What had he become? What good had he been, to anyone? He was a pawn with no agency, grappled over by two masters, both struggling for control. He had once wanted to understand and master the darkest shadows of magic, and he could not even defend his own mother from his Muggle father. He had inadvertently put Lily, the woman he loved, in mortal danger, a woman who no longer cared for him, did not even like him, because she could see him plainer than he could even see himself. He heard Dumbledore's words again,  _ You disgust me _ . He understood now. He had been a fool. He disgusted even himself.

They faded away.

"You come alone, Severus," came a soft, high-pitched voice. Severus could already feel the Dark Lord's mind on his, looking for gaps, for weaknesses. "I thought we had an agreement, the last time we met, you and I."

"Yes, my Lord," he assured, his voice firm. "My mother," his breath hitched, convincingly, "she was dead. I was too late."

"Dead? How convenient," came the voice. And then, without warning, " _ Crucio!" _

Severus had been prepared. The pain was unbearable, but it was almost welcome. He could focus on it, completely, the feeling of muscles tearing from bone, limbs breaking, consumed by fire, water filling his lungs. Then it lifted, and the Dark Lord immediately penetrated his mind, then found what he was looking for. Severus, entering Azkaban, led by the Dementor along the stone corridors, his mother's lifeless body in the middle of a cell, him falling to his knees, holding her, rocking her, weeping, covering her in a white shroud, carrying her down the stairs, Disapparating. The Dark Lord left his mind as quickly as he had entered - he had seen enough.

"Very well then. I must say I am disappointed, Severus - it would have been so nice to catch up." He left the room, his robes sweeping behind him, and Severus lay on the floor, in pain, exhausted.

He had done it. The relief overwhelmed him even as he gasped for breath, lying on that hard floor, a bleeding gash from the impact upon his forehead.  _ She would be safe _ . The feeling was incomparable.  _ He had done it _ . And then, the thought flitting through his mind, that Dumbledore would be proud...

They again were standing in Dumbledore's office. Severus sat with his mother opposite the Headmaster, his expression hard, unfathomable.

"So it is settled," Dumbledore affirmed, his hands folded on the desk in front of him. He slowly stood up, looking weary but still cheerful, and said, "I believe it is time to say goodbye. Take as long as you like." He touched Eileen's shoulder, as though to reassure her, and promptly left his office.

Mother and son turned to face each other, and she began trembling. She bit her bottom lip and ran her hands slowly over her only child's cheekbones, his nose, and his eyebrows, taking in every detail that she could, as though trying to memorize everything, as though she hadn't already done this an innumerable amount of times. She tugged at his ear and cupped his chin as though he was a boy again, as affectionate as only a mother could be. He stared at her, expressionless, and the only sound he made was that of his breathing, as though counting each one, his black eyes unable to tear away from hers.

"Mum," he said, as though pleading, although Hermione didn't know what for. Not to go through with the plan? Not to baby him? Not to cry?

"I haven't l-lived a day in peace since I was young. Y-you know that, right?" He nodded, still silent, his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. "It will be b-better like this." Her hand found his temple, her fingers lovingly running through his hair. "I've put you in so much d-danger, your whole l-life; it's not fair that I'm allowed t-to hide, and you aren't."

"You're my mother," he said, simply. "I will do anything to protect you – even if it means not... not seeing you anymore. I am the most dangerous person to you now." She wept silently into her hand, leaning over in her chair and letting him embrace her, and Hermione watched as a tear leaked from his own eye, dripping off of the tip of his hooked nose and falling onto his mother's back. A terrible sadness caused her heart to sink deep into her chest, and her throat tightened so much that it hurt. "Perhaps... perhaps it will end, soon," he whispered.

"Yes," she said, pulling away from him. "Of c-course. Just don't... don't..."

"I will be safe," he reassured.

The younger Severus watched his inconsolable mother as she reached out to him, flattening his black robes and pressing her hand to his chest as though searching for his heartbeat. "It doesn't m-matter what you d-do, or where y-you g-go," she stuttered, unable to control her grief, her hand still extended out in front of her. "Y-you're m-my son, and I'll always l-love you."

He let out a ragged gasp to catch his breath, and wrapped his arms around her one last time. "And I will always love you, Mum." She sobbed, inconsolable, her arms tight across his back, her face pressed against his shoulder. After several minutes they let go. He kissed her cheek, stood up, and, with one final glance, walked out the door.

The Headmaster stood on the landing below, his hands behind his back as he hummed to himself. When he heard Severus's steps he paused, turned to him, and waited for him to reach the landing where he stood. He placed his hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Time passes quickly, although for better or for worse I am never sure. Therefore, it is most important to find solace in the small things in times such as these, Severus. You should know that Lily Potter remains safe with her husband and son, and that your mother will remain safe here."

Severus said nothing, but instead simply nodded in his direction and then descended the steps to the landing below.

"And Severus," called Dumbledore, waiting for him to turn around, "I had nearly forgotten. Professor Slughorn is retiring from his post as Potions master once he is certain of a worthy replacement. In fact, it was only last week that I heard him boasting of your talent in that particular subject. Perhaps it may be worth sending him an owl." Severus looked down at the steps below him, back to Dumbledore, and then left without another word.

The Headmaster smiled to himself and slowly ascended the stairs. He closed the door behind him and wordlessly went through the cabinet beside his desk, handing a sniffling Eileen a small flask.

"Drink, if you will. It's a Calming Draught – you will require your strength." She nodded, and as she sipped she became noticeably less anxious, a little color returning to her cheeks. "That's much better. Now, you are certain no one witnessed you enter the grounds?"

She nodded. "S-Severus cast a Disillusionment Charm on m-me."

"Excellent. You are wandless?" he asked, sitting down in his chair.

"Y-yes. I can buy a new one, if-"

"It will not be necessary," he assured kindly. "The position you are to fill does not require a wand, although it would be best, in due course, if we were to ensure you had one. However, I hear you have retained the ability to perform some wandless magic?"

"Not much," she admitted, looking down at her knees in shame and then back at him.

"Never fear. There will be much time for practice in the time to come. As long as you are able to Metamorphose, I believe now would be the best time to change. Are you ready?" She nodded, closed her eyes, and tilted her head upwards, placing her hands over her features so as to feel them shifting under her fingertips.

Suddenly, Hermione felt wind whipping past her, and she realized she was standing on top of the Astronomy Tower. "No!" she exclaimed. "I didn't get to see-"

"Hush," admonished Severus, and she quickly understood the importance of this new memory – it was the night of the Headmaster's death. Severus must have been standing just underneath, listening as Dumbledore spoke with Draco.

"Come over to the right side, Draco," Dumbledore pleaded, "and we can hide you more completely than you could possibly imagine." His weak eyes did not sway from the young Slytherin, but the memory was gone, Severus and Eileen appearing directly in front of them, standing not a foot apart.

Severus appeared harried, soot on his shoes as though he had just come through the Floo. Hermione recognized the school grounds and the lake through the window, but they were standing in a room she had never been in before.

"S-Severus, is it true?" Eileen gasped, her hands balled in fists, her eyes searching her son's. "Please - p-please tell me it's not true!" she begged. He looked at her, a dark expression shadowing his face, and said nothing. All of a sudden, she appeared enraged. "How could you!" she shrieked, bringing a fist up to his chest and thumping it, before drawing away. "How could you!" she repeated, in despair, tears trailing down her face. "After everything h-he has done for me! For y-you!" Her face was in her hands, inconsolable. Her son, the only one she had left, the murderer of the man who had saved them both, the thought ripping her own heart in two. "You've been away, for weeks," she wept, "no letter, nothing. Y-you've just been with  _ them,  _ haven't you? Has it always b-been that way?" She drew herself up, her eyes full of pain, begging him to tell her differently.

"You will have to trust me," he insisted, his gaze holding hers. She could not know. If the school were to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters, if she were to be taken, questioned... his loyalty to the Dark Lord could not be in doubt, not after two decades of subterfuge, of risking everything. It was absolutely necessary for Harry to reach the end, and he was so close...

She looked as though she would collapse. "And who is going to p-protect us now, Severus, with Albus gone? Who is going to k-keep Hogwarts safe from You-Know-Who?" She stared into his eyes, wretched, in anguish, her greatest fears now realized.

Severus opened his mouth, paused, and then said simply, quietly, "Me."

The scene changed, and they were back in the Headmaster's office. Eileen sat across from Dumbledore, her hands over her face as she transformed.

Hermione watched the color of Eileen's skin turn from white to yellow, the texture from soft to that of rough parchment. Her body became only skin and bones, the body of an old woman. Her hair grayed slightly, lengthening down her back, and as she removed her hands to pull it into a bun, Hermione recognized who she had become, and who she had been all this time.

Hermione clutched her head from the daze of the thoughts that were swimming through it. It was obvious, so obvious, the whole time. "'We can hide you more completely than you could possibly imagine,'" she whispered, repeating Dumbledore's words to Severus. "He said that to Malfoy because... because he'd done it before – for you. For your mother."

Eileen's eyes were smaller, although still black, and her eyebrows thin, her features shriveled. Her once pleasant characteristics had formed a beak-like nose that was a mirror of her son's, a short forehead, an unnaturally long neck, and a permanent scowl which caused her to look like a disgruntled bird.

"She's been hiding, all this time," said Hermione. "That's why Dumbledore always trusted you. He knew... he knew that you would never betray your mother."

The office had disappeared and, in its place, was the Entrance Hall with the threatening message that the Chamber had been reopened written in blood upon the wall. Hermione saw her thirteen-year-old self standing in the front, being interrogated by Severus himself as to why Mrs. Norris was petrified. Directly behind Harry and Ron stood his mother, looking over Hermione's shoulder at the message in terror, her hands over her face as, in her terror, she struggled to maintain her appearance. Next to her was Filch, furious about his cat.

"I don't know if I have ever seen her with a wand, even though she had placed a hex on nearly every book she could... including her own journal, the one that she had hidden, that we found earlier. She always did clean with a feather duster – I thought it was odd, that she didn't use magic... She sent you those Daily Prophets about Lucius through Filch, didn't she?" she asked, turning away from Severus to think, not needing affirmation from him to know it was true.

There was a flash of Dumbledore handing Eileen the diary, destroyed, a hole in its center, covered in ink and blood. Then Hermione heard soft sobbing and realized she was within her own memory of Dumbledore's funeral. Sitting in a row not far from her was Severus's mother, escorted by Filch and covered in a long, black knee-length veil.

Hermione was again lost in thought. "She was grieving, not only for Dumbledore but for you, because you had left Hogwarts with the Death Eaters," she said, facing Severus. "She must have lost her ability to Metamorphose because of her grief, because her power had ebbed away… and she wore the veil to cover her features."

There was one last memory. It was of Eileen sat upon Severus’s bed, the bandages over his neck placing it just after Nagini’s attack. Hermione heard the sound of Eileen’s wracking sobs as they embraced, and the words,  _ I almost lost you… I almost lost you... _ repeated again and again. They were met with Severus’s muffled hushing, his expression at once pained and relieved. It was, finally, all over.

"Hagrid… he said there is no place safer than Hogwarts, if you wanted to hide something. I never... I never thought it could be hiding some _ one, _ " she said, a hand still clasped to her cheek.

"Yes, Hermione - she had been safe here, as the Hogwarts librarian," said Severus. "Her new name is an anagram given to her by Albus, in the way that the Dark Lord fashioned one from his own name."

She trembled from the realization. "Irma Pince," Hermione breathed. "I am Prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love the SSHG pairing, it was the idea behind this chapter that made me want to write the entire story. I hope you have enjoyed this, and not to worry - there are still more chapters yet to come xxx


	16. Confluence

Severus brought them out of the Pensieve. Hermione's legs nearly gave out, from shock and the length of time she had been standing. Severus lent her a hand so that she could steady herself and she sat down upon the nearest chair, next to the table, as his eyes searched her.

Hermione's eyes were blank as she regressed into her memory. "I just... I just can't... How could I have known her for the same amount of time I have known you? I've never even thought about her as more than a... a fixture. All of the conversations I had with her! All the hours I spent in the library! How could I have been so... so thick?" she cried.

"You are not thick, Hermione. You know perfectly well this was not a test of intelligence," he snapped, bending so that his face was close to hers, his hands flat upon the table. "If you have never spared her a second thought, then she has played her part well. If you have found her prickly, unwelcoming, unlikable, that is because it is what she wanted. No one is knowledgeable of her true identity – not even Minerva." Severus backed away and stood watching her, as though he was lost in his thoughts, lost in his memories too. He said, quietly, "It is not as obvious as you now think, Hermione."

Her eyes were large as they met his. "How often do you see her?"

"I visit her several times a month, whenever most convenient." Severus leaned back against the kitchen sink, watching Hermione carefully. Blue light still issued from the Pensieve, reflecting upon his face, the cabinets, the ceiling.

Hermione was silent as she thought upon what she had seen - what she now knew. For once, nearly all of her questions had been answered. Severus sat down into the chair across from her and folded his hands on his thigh.

After several minutes Hermione asked, "Does... does she know about me?" She looked fearful, the palms of her hands upon her flushed cheeks.

"Considering the amount of time you have spent in the library, Hermione, it would be impossible for her to not know who you are."

"You  _ know  _ what I mean," she insisted, her brow furrowing. "Does she know about  _ us?" _

He paused, and for a second, she doubted what he would say. "Of course she does, Hermione," he said tenderly, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She was ashamed she had thought he would keep their relationship a secret from his mother.

After another period of silence, she asked, "If Voldemort is gone, why doesn't she come out of hiding?"

"She has no reason to leave a comfortable, paying,  _ safe  _ position at Hogwarts. She enjoys the proximity to me and all the information she could care to learn."

"But doesn't she wish she could look like herself again? Doesn't she feel... trapped here, as Madam Pince?"

"My mother is not the first to find solace within this school. It is her home, and I am unsure whether she would feel similarly anywhere else."

For some reason, it felt like a great injustice for Eileen to have gone through all this pain and misery to still not have the full freedom to live. "But she can't be herself – no one even knows who she is," Hermione grieved, her throat tight.

"She has never wanted anything else," Severus replied firmly. He stood up and was soon beside her, his cheek brushing hers and his lips pressing against her forehead. "You can save any more questions you have for tomorrow, as we will be paying her a visit," he explained.

"Tomorrow?" she squeaked, suddenly looking ill.

"Yes, tomorrow." He looked down at her, and he suddenly appeared quite amused. "You have nothing to fear, Hermione. You have seen her for who she truly is... just as you had seen me." His expression was meaningful. Severus then turned to put away the memories, and the Pensieve, before suggesting, "Now then... time for bed. Don't wait for me – Minerva has me patrolling this evening, for the next few hours." She nodded, but knew sleep would be nearly impossible in her present condition.

As she readied herself for bed, she racked her brain for any interaction she had had with Madam Pince. She was content with the knowledge that not once during her seven years as a student had she been guilty of an overdue book. However, she remembered other things which made her wonder what the librarian thought of her. For instance, Madam Pince holding her signature from Lockhart to the light as though testing for forgery, when she’d asked to borrow a copy of  _ Moste Potente Potions  _ in her second year. Had she and Severus been able to link together the book and his missing ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion? If they had, he had never acted upon the suspicions. And then, Madam Pince... Eileen... had found Harry and the rest looking over Severus's copy of  _ Advanced Potion-Making _ , known then as belonging to a certain "Half-Blood Prince." Had she known? Had she identified the book as her own, or her son's? Had it been wrought unrecognizable - or instantly unmistakable - by Severus's innumerable scrawled additions?

Hermione laid in bed, tossing and turning as her worries grew and gnawed at her insides. Would Eileen like her? Would she even approve of their relationship? That question became agonizing. Eileen had told Severus that he was her son, that she would always love him.  _ Yes,  _ she thought,  _ but that doesn't mean she would necessarily care for me _ .

Severus entered his chambers four hours later to find Hermione curled up on the settee, staring into the fire. "Unable to sleep?" he asked.

"Too much on my mind," she explained.

"Hmm." He hung his cloak on the hook and walked into the small kitchen. "Tea?" he offered, obviously very tired.

"No, thank you."

Severus put the kettle on the stove for himself and then pulled out several bottles of ingredients and a cauldron, setting them on the table. He added varying measurements out of the bottles into the cauldron before stirring twice, then left to take a quick shower, the hot water steeping in the teapot.

Severus came out of the bedroom in his grey nightshirt, poured himself a cup of tea, and downed it quickly. He laid down on his back on the sofa, allowing Hermione to crawl into his arms before handing her a cup filled with the purple potion he had just made.

"You truly are wonderful," she said, downing the Sleeping Potion in one gulp and laying the cup on the floor, immediately relaxing and running her thumb across his jaw. Severus kissed her, his hand on her cheek, his tongue parting her lips and meeting hers briefly. Hermione laid her head on his chest, and they both were soon sound asleep.

.

.

.

Hermione stood in front of the small mirror in the bathroom, brushing her bushy hair, trying to make it look presentable. She reflected, thinking about how Severus never commented on the way she looked – not that she really cared. But the way he looked at her, as though it was difficult to withdraw his gaze, made her feel as though she was the most beautiful being in the world.

She wore her favorite robes, a simple wrap dress in a deep plum which did wonders for her complexion. She didn't think she looked half bad, for someone who had only slept six hours the night before.

"Time to go," Severus said, poking his head around the door and meeting her gaze in the glass. He was fixing his necktie, tucking it under his jacket before disappearing from view.

Hermione finished brushing her hair, laying down the brush before stepping through the bedroom and into the living room. She suddenly felt a lightheadedness similar to the vertigo of being pulled out of the Pensieve, and her stomach was in knots. Severus tossed Floo Powder into the fire and wordlessly stepped forward, becoming engulfed in green flames. Hermione took a deep breath and followed him, closing her eyes until she arrived on the other side.

The room she entered was open and faced the south, the yellow sunlight streaming in and brightening the walls covered in intricate tapestries. She could see out over the lake through the windows on the right, which extended from the floor to the ceiling. Included in the view were the mountains beyond and parts of the forest. It was not unlike the room Hermione boarded in as Head Girl, but it was much larger. A small blue sofa faced the fireplace, a table with a set of gold gobstones between the two, and the main door was against the wall to their left. Behind the sofa was a small kitchenette, and against the far wall near the windows was another doorway, to the bedroom. In the corner between the panorama of the Hogwarts grounds and the fireplace was a small rocking chair, a wicker basket by its side with balls of yarn, the ends of knitting needles visible. On the end table by the settee rested a pair of glasses, a thick book, and a drained cup of tea.

The door to their left opened quietly and Hermione's face flushed with nervousness as the person who she had previously only thought to be Madam Pince entered the room. She looked from Severus to Hermione with the same suspicious gaze she imparted to every student at Hogwarts.

"And what time do you call this, Severus?" she asked, slightly bitter and accusatory. "You're so late, I'd thought you'd forgotten!" She took off her feathered green hat, set it on the kitchen counter, and walked to stand in front of them, hands on her hips, several heads shorter than Severus and looking rather testy.

"Now, Mother," he said with a smirk, "you know perfectly well when I said we would be here."

She glared up at him before, unexpectedly, looking over to Hermione and winking.

Hermione watched as she stepped back and slowly grew in height, her hair darkening from grey to black and her skin lightening to a pale white. She had grown from the small, hunched, old librarian into a tall elegant woman who was nearly regal, true to her maiden name. She quickly pulled out her small bun and stepped towards them both, her eyes level with Severus's, and folded her son into an embrace. He was not as stiff as Hermione would have expected, kissing his mother on the cheek before letting go.

"Miss Hermione Granger," she said, taking one of Hermione's hands into two of her own. "How nice to  _ truly _ meet you."

Hermione's heart fluttered, for there was extreme kindness in her voice. "Likewise," she replied, as though she could barely breathe. It was only now, in person, that Hermione could fully realize - her eyes and Severus's were just the same.

"Sit down," Eileen insisted, watching her son sit upon the settee and Hermione take a place by him. "Would either of you like tea? I never have visitors, so you must forgive me for being a poor hostess, dear," she said to Hermione, who flinched as Eileen slapped Severus's arm playfully, although the look on her face was a stern one. "You haven't visited me in nearly three weeks! You so easily forget your own mother, Severus, you abuse me almost as much as those books you scribble in," she remarked bitterly, taking her drained teacup into the kitchen and pulling a kettle out of her cabinets.

Severus looked over at Hermione, acting as though he was put off, and then smirked slightly as she smiled. "End of term is a rather busy time, as you know. And you used to write in your books, I won't have you forget," he said.

"Younger, yes. However, I believe I had slightly more self-restraint when  _ I _ was nearing forty."

"Well, I have vivid memories of you making notes in the margins when I was younger. Perhaps the senility is setting in; you do turn seventy today. You haven't forgotten  _ that, _ have you?"

"Who could forget something of  _ that _ nature?" asked Eileen, dryly, as though hardly thrilled that it was her birthday.

Hermione listened to their playful banter with a smile she could barely conceal. Yesterday this time she didn't even have an inkling of whom or where Severus's mother was, and here she was, in her living room.

Eileen soon had a strong Earl Grey tea ready for them. "Biscuits?" she offered, handing them both a plate of chocolate digestives.

"Of course," responded Severus, looking quite relaxed and helping himself to one.

Hermione watched them converse and found that there was so much to take in at once – Eileen's quick chatter, the lilt to her voice, her fast and intricate gesturing, and the glasses perched on the edge of her nose she'd forgotten to remove in excitement.

"You've been rather quiet, Miss Granger," remarked Eileen. "Is your tea all right?"

"It's... wonderful. And, please, call me Hermione."

"As you wish, my love."

A movement by her feet caused Hermione to look down, and a small calico shorthair cat jumped into the older woman's lap. It rubbed its head into her chest and then stepped into the lap of her son, repeating its now unwelcome act. White, black, and red hairs covered the front of his black jacket and the sleeves of his crossed arms. The cat turns its green eyes to an amused Hermione, stepped into her lap, and allowed itself to be petted, arching its back to meet her hand as it purred deeply.

"Your cat is beautiful," she said.

"Thank you," responded Eileen, with a smile. "His name is Kipling. You also have a cat, don't you?"

"Yes, his name is Crookshanks. He's a ginger cat, and part kneazle – you might have seen him around the castle, although he usually stays in the dungeons."

"I'm not particularly partial to the creature," muttered Severus.

"You're not particularly partial to  _ anything _ ," his mother teased, watching him purse his lips.

Hermione smiled, looked up and realized that upon the mantelpiece, in its own display-case, rested a long, thin white wand. Eileen followed her gaze and stood up.

"Is that your wand?" questioned Hermione as Eileen retrieved it carefully, holding it as though it was a treasure.

"Yes; Albus insisted that I get one. It was after You-Know-Who had returned. He said that he would feel better if I had a wand with which to protect myself. I don't usually use it, though – only if necessary." The handle was decorated with many small, concentric circles within several larger ones, as though the wood was water disturbed by many droplets of rain.

"It's beautiful," Hermione murmured.

"Hawthorn and unicorn tail hair, correct?" Severus asked.

She nodded. Kipling pressed his nose and face along the wand before reaching out a paw and batting the tip. Several golden sparks shot out of the end, causing him to jump into the air and then streak out of the room in fear. Eileen chuckled, setting her wand back in its case on the mantel.

"Would you like any more tea?" she asked both of them, refilling her own cup and taking the plate of biscuits back into the kitchen. She moved with grace and an ease reserved for someone much younger than her. Hermione noticed that she was very happy, and it did not seem like it was just an effect of their visit but rather that she possessed, in general, a - rather un-Irma-like - cheery disposition.

When she sat back down beside her son, he said, "We have a gift, for your birthday."

"Oh, you needn't-" she began, placing her hand on his arm.

"Don't object, Mum," he insisted, "it’s merely something we found of yours. Hermione, in fact, was the one to find it." He reached within his cape and pulled out a small black box, a journal, and letters, and through her confusion, Hermione realized it was what they recovered the day before.

"How did you...?" Eileen asked, becoming speechless. She took the object into her lap and flicked open the silver latch.

"I took my yearly visit to Spinner's End yesterday, and Hermione found the loose floorboard in your room."

"Apparently my hiding place was not as secure as I thought. I had completely forgotten about this," she mumbled. "Oh... I'm sure you don't remember, but..." She held the small rubber ball in her palm. It was red, unblemished, and perfectly round. "The first time I ever saw you perform magic was with this," she said, handing it to him. "You were so little, and you had managed to bounce it onto the roof. You were devastated, but the next thing I knew it had jumped out of the gutter and floated into your hand. Oh, and your bear..."

Severus took the grey stuffed animal and charmed it to grow in size, handing it to his mother who cradled it as though it was a baby.

"Bernard... what a good friend. There was a time you wouldn't sleep without him. He looks as though he's been through a lot," she giggled, looking back into the box. "The sea glass and shells we found in Scarborough... You loved the water like any boy of your age would. You scared me to death, too, once. I couldn't find you – I thought you had drowned – and you turned up under the pier covered in sand and seaweed." She smiled to herself, saying, "Yes... the holidays in Scarborough were the best times."

Hermione watched as she sifted through pictures, Severus's and her own N.E.W.T. results, and the birthday card he had drawn for her when he was just a boy.

"How precious... and here are some letters you sent me when you were a student. ' _ Dear Mum, you were right about Hogwarts- _ '"

"Must you read them now?" he complained.

She gave him a stern look before folding up the parchment. "I shall save them for later, then," she sighed, "even though it  _ is  _ my birthday." After a moment of silence, she turned to Hermione and said, "Severus has told me you are to stay and take on an apprenticeship with him in order to become a Potions master."

"Yes, and I am... rather excited about it," she affirmed, sipping her tea.

"Do you know what you will be doing after you're qualified?"

"Er... not really," she stumbled, looking up at Severus for help. "I supposed I could brew potions for Madam Pomfrey or teach, if Severus ever gains the Dark Arts position. Or work for the Ministry. Any number of things, really."

"Noble pursuits," Eileen said, nodding to herself. "You would do best in positions to serve others, for it is in your nature to help. Oh, don't be embarrassed by my compliment," she said, reaching out her hand as though she wished to pat Hermione's knee as the young woman blushed. "I remember the hours you spent in the library trying your best – and succeeding – to solve many mysteries to help Mr. Potter. I am certain you are tired of hearing it, but you  _ are _ one of the brightest witches of your age." She paused. "And, without you, I wouldn't have my Severus. I wanted to thank you for saving him."

Severus sported a mixed expression of amusement and pride as Hermione turned red. "My pleasure," she replied quietly, finding it difficult to swallow.

Their discussion then turned to books, Hogwarts, and more stories of Severus's childhood. It was not long before Kipling was back upon Eileen's knee, purring away, and soon enough the afternoon was gone.

Once it had become dark, the sconces on the wall automatically lit. Eileen turned towards the windows and realized that the sun was setting over the forest.

"Should I send for dinner? You must be famished, you've had nothing to eat but biscuits!"

Three plates of roast beef, peas, carrots, Yorkshire pudding, and fluffy roast potatoes soon came through the fireplace. They ate at her kitchen table, Hermione watching as both mother and son cut their Yorkshire pudding into small pieces, eating slowly, enjoying every mouthful, both reserving a particularly golden potato as the last part of their meal. She smiled to herself, wondering if they saw the resemblances as she did.

After dinner, Hermione and Severus retired to the living room, Eileen going into her cabinets and rooting around. "Now, I have some red wine, Severus, if you would like that. Hermione, feel free to help yourself to that as well, although I can make us some Pumpkin Gin Fizz if you like? It's my specialty."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione beamed.

Eileen came into the room and distributed their drinks, Hermione quickly thanking her and complimenting her on the set of golden gobstones on the table before them.

"Why thank you; they are quite pretty, aren't they? Perhaps we can try our hand at a game if you like."

"Mum," warned Severus, darkly.

"Well," Hermione began, "I'm not really quite sure what the rules are."

Eileen looked shocked. "Oh, my dear! Don't tell me you've never played  _ Gobstones! _ " she exclaimed breathlessly, as though what Hermione had said was unthinkable, as though she had admitted to never before eating cauldron cakes or riding a broomstick.

"Oh no," groaned Severus, leaning against the arm of the chair, running his hand along his forehead.

"What?" retorted Hermione.

"You don't know what you've just unleashed. She's inexorable, unrelenting-"

Eileen had not heard him, but instead was excitedly dragging her rocking chair over so that she could sit across the coffee table from Hermione. "Imagine that!" she said, almost to herself, and then, "It's not every day you get to teach the great Hermione Granger something new, much less how to play  _ Gobstones _ !"

Hermione's cheeks flushed with color. It was flattering to continuously be told that she was talented, however she liked to earn the praise, especially as at this very moment she doubted she would fare any better at this game than she had at Wizard's Chess.

"Now, I'll have you know that I was President of the Gobstone Club when I was a student," she boasted, prideful, "but although I do meet up with a group at the Hog's Head every so often, I am a bit rusty." She leaned forward, cracked her knuckles, and pointed to the board and stones sitting between them, relaying the fundamentals to her student.

They began, and Hermione tentatively took the large gobstone of her color in her hand, shooting it at one of Eileen's and missing entirely. Eileen deftly took her own shooter gobstone and knocked out one of her opponent's. The gobstone promptly turned to Hermione and spit out a smelly green liquid over her nice dress.

"Yuck!" she exclaimed, disgusted.

"That's Gobstones!" Eileen tittered excitedly. "It's your turn now!"

The game continued, and they both burst into laughter when Hermione accidentally knocked one of her own stones out, before finally managing to capture one of Eileen's. Hermione watched her opponent become covered with the liquid, both giggling. They finished out the game, which Eileen easily won, but she had been a good teacher, pointing out Hermione's mistakes after she had made them and discussing the easy plays that she could have made if she had been less merciful.

By this point, Severus had helped himself to another glass of red wine, sipping on it quietly as he watched them begin another game. Once he tried to warn Hermione from making herself particularly vulnerable to attack, but he was too late, and by the time her stone had left the circle without causing any damage Eileen had already knocked out three of Hermione's, tears in her eyes from laughter as her opponent became drenched.

They played a few more games, Hermione winning once but only because Eileen had been too softhearted, before abandoning it for easy conversation between the three. Severus, with a flick of his wand, cleaned up the mess from the gobstones, although a funny smell still lingered in the air.

Eventually, it was decided that they would call it a night. They rose to their feet, and Severus gently embraced his mother goodbye.

"Please, visit again soon, my love," she begged, taking Hermione into her arms as well.

"We will," Hermione promised, following Severus into the green flames and entering his chambers.

She flopped down on the sofa, looking up at the stone ceiling. "Your mother is so sweet," she reflected, lifting her head and placing it against his thigh as he sat beside her. "And she's so witty! I wasn't expecting that... but I guess she  _ is  _ your mother."

"I am glad that you like each other," he said, a faint smile upon his lips, his hand sifting through her hair.

She looked up at him, a smile upon her face, and then away, into the fire.  _ It must feel good _ , she thought,  _ after all this time, to feel loved and cared for and safe. Like after a long period of holding your breath, finally letting it go. _

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.

.

Hermione knocked on the gigantic oak door, heard heavy footsteps from within, and smiled as Hagrid welcomed her into his cabin.

"Good ter see yeh, Hermione," he said, beckoning her inside. It was morning, but a fire was already lit and an immense cauldron was bubbling away with a soup inside, intended for whom or what Hermione had no idea. The groundskeeper was not the best cook, but she thought he could do better than the lumpy grey mixture which did not give off the most pleasant aroma. Fang wagged his tail wildly and emitted large booming barks in happiness.

"Good to see you too, Hagrid." She sat down on the over-sized wooden bench beside the enormous table, letting Fang rest his heavy head on her knees as he whined for attention. Hagrid sat down in his graying armchair, leaning forward and twiddling his thumbs as though nervous.

"I've been wantin ter talk to yeh. I've, uh, h-heard," he stammered, looking away as though incredibly anxious.

"Heard what?" she asked, scratching Fang's ear.

"I heard yeh've bin seein' Professor Snape." Hermione turned bright red, as did Hagrid. Never would she have guessed that he had wanted to talk to her about  _ this _ . "P-professor McGonagall though' we all had the righ' ter know."

"Professor McGonagall told you? T-the  _ whole staff _ knows?" she gasped, horrified and putting her hands over her face as though trying to hide, her stomach dropping as though she had missed a step. She certainly wasn't ashamed of her affection towards Severus, but she knew that he was still judged harshly by his colleagues, and it pained her to think what people might be saying about them, as it almost certainly would be wrong.

"Yeah. An' I told her it's none o' our business. Righ' mad, she was."

"Oh, Hagrid," she said, thankful through her misery, "you didn't have to do that for me!"

He lowered his voice. "I jus' wanted to tell yeh tha' I'm proud of yeh, fer knowin' tha' people have two sides to 'em. It takes a righ' smart person to see the good in some people."

She blushed again. "Well, you taught me that, Hagrid. Something... something like a Flobberworm isn't everyone's favorite animal, but they can be... interesting, I suppose."

He beamed down at her, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes glistening. "I jus' though' yeh should know abou' it, jus'... jus' so yeh know. And yeh should also know if yeh ever need anyone ter talk to someone, or summat, I'm always here. Maybe Harry an' Ron should visit too – s'no' the same withou' seein' yeh all the time." Now they were able to speak freely about her friends which had graduated, the state of the forest, and various creatures he was hoping to incorporate into his lessons, and when she left she felt almost light-hearted.

.

.

.

"Are you  _ sure _ you don't want me to come with you?" Severus asked quietly, not for the first time, as he looked down at her. Hermione was dressed in her Muggle clothes, her palm resting on the handle of her suitcase. After weeks of planning, she was ready to leave.

"No, no - I think I have to do this by myself. Too many questions otherwise, really," she asserted. "I won't be able to send an owl, but my plane lands back in London in three weeks. I'll send a message then, to let you know how it went."

"I'm certain you won't have any problems." He looked away, his hand in his pocket, and stared into the corner of the room.

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be fine," she agreed. And then, after a silence, she said, "I'll miss you," feeling silly at the sadness that overcame her when she realized they had not spent this amount of time apart before.

He stepped towards her, his arms enveloping her, his lips soft on hers. "I'll miss you as well," he murmured, his nose pressing against hers. "I have lived happily on my own for quite some time, Hermione, and rather annoyingly you've taken that from me." Their lips met once more. "Off you go, then." She pulled her suitcase behind her and looked back from the threshold, her hand on the doorknob.

"I love you," they both said, at the same time, both turning a bit pink. Hermione gave him a grin and a tiny wave, and then left.

On the Knight Bus ride to the airport, she reflected upon her plan. She would fly to Australia, restore her parents' memories, sort out all the administrative details, and then come back. Perhaps a tall order to accomplish in three weeks, but, well, she worked best under pressure. And then, how to tell them about Severus? One step at a time, really. Coming to terms with what had happened to them would be difficult enough, especially without a real understanding of what Voldemort had meant, what he could have done to them. If only there could be a way to summarize everything that had happened in the past two years in a way that made any sense.

As she looked out the window at the scenery flashing past, she smiled to herself. A Pensieve would be quite handy, really.

.

.

.

A month later, her task successfully complete and back at Hogwarts, Hermione shook wildly as she unhooked the latch and allowed the tawny owl, which had been pecking at the window, to land on the work table behind her.

"Your N.E.W.T. results?" Severus asked knowingly, alerted by the sound of the beak on the glass and watching her nod. She had been working with him on a potion as she continuously glanced out the window, waiting impatiently. Now she looked as though she would be sick, and he smirked, accepting the envelope from the bird before it knocked over several ingredients and flew back out the way it came. He carefully turned the letter around in his hands and said, "If you are unable to open it, perhaps I-"

"No!" she insisted, snatching it from him, closing her eyes and fumbling to open the large wax seal. After taking a few seconds to scan her results she threw her arms around Severus's neck, sobbing inconsolably.

His hand found hers, gripping the parchment and wrenching it from her fist, holding it out behind her head so he could read it. "Hermione, every one of your marks is 'Outstanding!'"

"I k-know!" she wept. "They  _ must  _ be wrong, I couldn't have possibly scraped anything more than an 'Exceeds Expectations' for Defense, and then-"

"You are the most absurd creature I have ever known," he muttered, speaking into her hair, feeling her release her grip around his shoulders.

"I... I don't know. I wouldn't put it beyond them to make a few mistakes in the scoring." She took her N.E.W.T. results and sat in his armchair, staring at them until every letter was burned into her memory, as Severus went back to his work. After a while, he stopped what he was doing, leaned over Hermione, and gently took the parchment from her grasp.

She glared at him, but he smugly kissed her forehead. "You should accept my congratulations, and we should officially commence your apprenticeship. It is, after all, the reason you are here." Hermione's glare lessened at the promise of learning, always the eager student. She joined him at the table and looked down into the cauldron before her. "You have not seen this potion for several years, but perhaps you may be able to identify it."

"Draught of Youth," she answered immediately, her attention focused solely on him. "It gives the drinker feelings of euphoria and encourages imagination as well as emotional liberation. Overdoses, however, can have adverse mental side effects such as reckless behavior and carelessness, and in extreme cases can also cause physical transformation into the form of one's younger self. It is really only recommended as a counteracting agent for the Draught of Age."

"Now tell me, what are the main ingredients?"

"Buttercups, Angora rabbit wool, root of ash, and a rather large amount of sugar, among other things."

"When would one know that it has aged sufficiently?"

"It will have reached a light yellow color, which generally takes up to four months."

"Very good," he said, under his breath, lowering his eyes as though sizing her up. "You will certainly be ready within the next four years, if not three. However, time  _ is _ of the essence, and I expect three full pages on the effects of age-altering potions two days from now."

"But couldn't I just  _ orally  _ deliver my answer? It would be rather easier-"

"Anyone who knew you would understand that you were... sufficiently, if not overly, loquacious. The purpose of the essay is to train you to organize your thoughts on paper. It is not  _ supposed  _ to be easy. In fact, if anything is too easy, that signifies that we are wasting time. Attaining the title of Potions master is very difficult, but quite rewarding." He took on a lecturing tone, but she held on to every word. "Some wizards make the argument that the art of potion-making necessitates the least magical skill, for all that is required is the addition of several ingredients in the correct order to make a successful brew. I, however, say differently. A Muggle could pick up a wand and force magic from it, but he could not prepare the most rudimentary of potions. It requires the infusion of magic, transferred from the hands of the witch or wizard to the ingredients, the cauldron, the ladle," he said, touching all of these things, "to work. It is an art-form reserved for the patient, the practical, and the proficient – those who are capable of a lifetime in servitude to planning and organization, find thrill in the difficult procurement of rare ingredients, and can identify with a critical eye the most subtle of details, the most nominal of hints." He picked up the cauldron and, after placing a charm which would act as an invisible lid, stored it in a cabinet on the far right of the small kitchen. She had never heard him so impassioned before, and it surprised her that he would speak so  _ lovingly _ , in a way, about his craft. "Now, Miss Granger," he said, walking towards her and folding her in his arms, "do you believe you will be able to fulfill those requirements?"

His lips savored hers unexpectedly, and she said, "I do. I should hope I can."

His hand on her face never failed to make her quiver, and now was no exception. "Four years is hardly any time at all – it is merely half the time you spent as a student."

She kissed his chin, his bottom lip, his handsome nose, before whispering, "I can't wait."


	17. The Best Part

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ Four Years Later _

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.

The August heat in central London was stifling as Hermione wove her way out of the crowd leaving St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The Muggles walking through the streets didn't seem to notice her lime green robes which signified her position as a Healer. They also wouldn't have noticed the small cauldron underneath the insignia of the hospital, a crossed bone and wand, which would have told them that she was, more specifically, a Potions Mediwitch.

She worked as part of a veritable legion of potioneers which were the very backbone of St Mungo's. There was the mundane, necessary Pepper-Up for cold season, Calming Draughts for those suffering from severe anxiety, and Blood-Replenishing for more serious accidents. However, there were many rare maladies which required constant research and innovation to combat, and this was where Hermione shined. Already she had scaled the ranks, showing her promise of intelligence, hard work, and good judgment as she healed strange case after the other. Every day was a constant test of her skill, and she relished it all.

Hermione stepped into an alleyway and Disapparated, nearly instantaneously appearing in Diagon Alley for it was only several blocks away. The heat, however, would not have allowed for a comfortable trip on foot. She stepped into Slug & Jiggers Apothecary which was kept nearly as cold as a refrigerator, and for that she was thankful. Over the years she had learned many things, one such thing being the importance of maintaining a proper temperature so ingredients would not spoil. Utilizing dungeons for Potions classes and storerooms was not merely an aesthetic choice, but essential to preserving all the supplies which the students used through the year. The offices where Hermione worked were similarly located beneath St Mungo's, and so stayed properly cool.

The interior to the apothecary was analogous to Severus's office. There were rows upon rows of creatures and other ingredients in jars, once unfamiliar to her and now items she used daily. She need only look at one to think of an innumerable list of potions in which she could use it.

"Miss Granger, what can I get for you?" asked Mr. Miraphorus, the owner of the shop. He was rather old, graying and slightly hunched over, but he sported a very cheerful disposition. She was almost a weekly visitor to the store, ordering ingredients either for her work or Severus's, and they were on friendly terms.

"Would you happen to have a kilo of powdered Griffin claw?"

"Of course." He pulled out a large paper bag and walked towards the back in his peculiar, tottering gait, tapping a jar with his wand so that it levitated and poured out a chalky, grey substance. "Everything all right at St Mungo's?" he asked.

"Yes, although there is a bad bout of Dragon Pox going around. We've been going through a lot of Strengthening Solution, hence the shortage of powdered claw."

"I wouldn't fancy catching that!" he exclaimed, chuckling slightly. "Will this be all?" he asked as the jar set itself upright on the shelf and he carried the sack towards the register. Miraphorus poked it with his wand and it sealed itself. "Not low on salamander's blood?"

"No, not today," she replied, smiling and pulling out her coin purse.

"That'll be 3 Galleons, 7 Sickles."

"Thank you," she said, handing him four Galleons and receiving the change. She left the store and threaded through the bustle of Diagon Alley. As usual, she looked in the windows of Potage's Cauldron Shop and Flourish & Blotts, but saw nothing that interested her.

A voice beside her exclaimed, "Hermione!" She turned to see Neville leaving Obscurus Books, several hardbacks stacked in his arms so high that she wondered how they didn't fall.

"Neville! Let me help you with those!" she exclaimed, taking some of the volumes and hugging him awkwardly with one arm.

"Would you mind helping me to the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked.

"Not a bit." They began walking in that direction, passing familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. She found it funny to see him dressed in brown trousers, a white buttoned shirt, and a dark green tie, his hair smoothed over to one side of his head. "Are you all right? I don't think I've seen you since your wedding." She placed her package on the top book in her pile.

"Not much, just finally settled in above the pub, and..." She looked over at him, and he was holding out a book to show her. It was titled  _ A Guide to Magical Parenting _ .

"Congratulations!" she exclaimed as they walked through the brick wall towards the back of the Leaky Cauldron. "When are you due?"

"In February," he replied, blushing slightly.

"Oh, you must be so excited!" she exclaimed. "Have you told Ginny and Harry, they'd love to hear your news!"

"They actually were just stopping by when I left for the bookstore - they're probably still here." He led her through the kitchens, from which the sounds of pans clanking together and the strong smell of garlic issued, out into the main part of the pub where a small group was sitting at a table. Hermione smiled as Harry rose to give her a hug, voicing his happiness that she was there even though it hadn't been long since she had last seen them. His and Ginny's birthdays had just come and gone, and she visited the family then. Harry had grown into his height, no longer the scraggly adolescent from his Hogwarts years, and was dressed in the robes of an Auror. Ginny remained seated, a blue pram between them.

"You can pick him up if you like, he just woke from his nap," she offered, looking happier than she ever had. Harry sat across from her, taking her hand in his upon the table. He, too, looked exceptionally proud. However, there was a melancholy look behind his green eyes that had been there ever since Hermione could remember. She thought it came from losing so much at such a young age, and she feared he would never look truly happy.

Hermione set the books and powder on the table, leaned over, and took the little black-haired baby into her arms. "He's just so cute," she cooed as the baby fussed. "He's four months old now, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is."

Hannah, who had been busy with several other customers, now came to their table. She greeted Hermione as the others had and asked the group, "Is there anything I can get you? On us, of course." She then bent over James and took his hand in hers, mumbling sweet things to him to make him smile.

"I think we could all use some water," suggested Neville, kissing his wife on the cheek. "I'll get the drinks. Ale for you, Harry?" he asked, a knowing grin on his face.

"Sure thing," he replied, returning the smile.

"Hermione, Ginny?"

"Rhubarb cordial for me, please," Ginny replied.

"I'll have an elderflower wine, Neville, if that's all right?" asked Hermione.

"Cheeky," he replied, causing them all to laugh. "Hannah?" he asked quietly, touching her arm.

"I'm fine," she insisted, and Neville left to make their drinks. Hannah stood up straight, tying her blonde hair back into a ponytail. "Hot out, isn't it?"

"If you ever need to get out of the city, let us know," offered Ginny. "It's a bit cooler back home."

"You're living where, exactly?" she asked.

"Near Godric's Hollow," explained Harry. "It's a new, smaller wizarding community, but with lots of space. It's a good area for Ginny to practice for Quidditch, at any rate."

"Although it'll be a little while yet before I have time to get back on a broom," Ginny quipped, looking at James lovingly.

"Neville and I always listened to the games. Bringing the Holyhead Harpies that far into the season was spectacular!" Hannah exclaimed.

"Well, you know... It was the team, not just me. And I had good support at home," she said, looking at Harry and squeezing his hand.

"How's the Ministry these days?" Hermione asked Harry. "I've been reading good things about you in the Prophet, so you must be doing well," she laughed.

"It's been fine, but I've taken off a lot of time to be home."

"Ron's been trying to move in with us," giggled Ginny. "He doesn't really like the flat he's renting - I don't blame him, it's  _ awful -  _ but he can't stand the idea of living with Mum and Dad."

"How is Ron?" Hermione asked.

"He's seeing a Muggle girl," explained Ginny. "We all went out to dinner once, and she seems nice. Incredibly thick – dumber than a bag of Dungbombs – but very, very sweet. Dad, of course, is trying to arrange the marriage already. I'm surprised he didn't marry a Muggle himself, considering how much he loves them." They all laughed, and Hermione was glad that, maybe, things wouldn't be so awkward between her and Ron anymore.

The baby coughed and began to cry, and Harry reached out to relieve her of the infant. Neville returned with the drinks, handing them around the table.

When he turned to Hermione, he asked, suddenly very excited, "Have you heard about Snitseed?" Hannah rolled her eyes, as though she had heard about it one too many times, and excused herself to check up on the kitchen. He continued on as if nothing had happened. "Herbologists have been experimenting in Norway, and they've come up with a plant which has a sedative bite!"

"Really?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. The Potters were now talking between themselves, giving James a bottle with as much joy as though it was the first time they ever had.

Neville was extremely enthused as he continued to explain. "Yes – they grow in bunches on a vine, like grapes, and they turn from green to red when ripe. Once mature they grow small propellers, but can only fly a distance of about twenty feet. The brighter red they are, the more potent the bite." He paused and then asked, "Could you imagine their use at St Mungo's?"

"If we could successfully raise and store them, it would be much easier – and maybe less costly – than to keep using a Calming Draught. They sound like they wouldn't be difficult to administer, either."

"Exactly. And the bite is virtually painless with almost immediate effect – simpler than making someone who may be incapacitated drink a potion which might not go down too easily."

"I'll have to bring it up with the Healer-in-Charge. It might even have usage as a potions ingredient. Snitseed, is it?"

"Yes – I could send you the article, if you want."

"That'd be wonderful."

After another hour of catching up they all departed, needing to run errands or return to work. Hermione Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, entering through them and making her way to the castle. It looked exactly the same as it had the first day she had entered it, and she was sure it would continue to do so long after she was gone.

It was late afternoon, the sun still high in the sky. She generally took the morning shift at work because it allowed her to spend a free afternoon with Severus, although that didn't prevent her from working nights every once in a while.

The dungeons were wonderfully cool after the difficult hike up to the castle. Hermione entered the living room which had become their own, decorated with pictures she had taken with the Muggle camera Mr. Weasley had given to her for graduation. Out of small frames stared her friends, Crookshanks, and even Eileen, who had allowed a picture. The one she loved the most, though, was one that she could not let Severus know she had. It was of him sitting in his office, marking his students' work, his eyebrows furrowed and his body bent over the desk, the sunlight from the small window above falling upon his back. The photograph was currently tucked into the journal she kept, well-hidden from view.

She set the bag of powder down next to the fireplace so she wouldn't forget it on her way to work the next morning. Severus had been sitting in his armchair, but quickly put down the book he had been reading. He stood up to greet her, asking what she had bought.

Before she could answer, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his lips were already on her throat, and she wondered what it was that had excited him so. Their need for each other recently had become insatiable, so his lust was not so out of the ordinary. She felt his leg brushed past hers, and she teased, "Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to-" He cut off her words with a kiss, undoing several buttons at her neck in search of the white skin underneath.

She stepped out of her black shoes and watched as he did the same, both of them now slowly moving towards the bedroom, shedding layer after layer of their outfits until they landed in their bed. Severus laid on his back and she on his stomach, her legs straddling his hips. She could feel his hands rush up her back, find the clasp on her white bra and undo it. Hermione sat up, tossed the undergarment aside, and let him savor her with his hands, his eyes, his mouth. Was there a place that he had neglected to kiss her, a place he hadn't touched before? She couldn't think of an exception, shivering as his lips pressed against her throat, her collarbone, the side of her neck.

Soon, neither of them could wait any longer. She helped take off his black boxers before she removed her knickers, reaching down between her legs to guide him. He entered her until she had taken him all, and they gasped together from the sensation. She rocked forward with her weight pressing against where they met, her hands on his shoulders. What unraveled her senses most was the sound of his labored breathing, when he moaned for her, when his eyes were closed in pure ecstasy and she heard his short, pitched gasping which she echoed. It was unbelievable to have Severus Snape become completely mindless below her, his black hair fanned out upon the pillow, to feel him grip her arms as though she was the only thing anchoring him to the bed, and to watch his face twist with insurmountable pleasure.

She gently raked her nails down his chest and he arched his back, moaning loudly, his hands now running up and down her thighs.

"Have I ever... told you how lovely your breasts are?" he asked quietly, as though to distract himself.

She smiled, moving up and down slowly, watching his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open as he ran his hands up her stomach to her breasts, squeezing them gently. "Perhaps a few times," she murmured, knowing it had been many more than a few.

He gasped slightly as she leaned forward a bit further, the flat of her hands pressing upon his chest. He ran his hands up around her back, his palms skimming across her skin. "And... have I ever mentioned how soft... your skin is?" His face was red now, his brow furrowed, his hands on her hips as she moved back and forth. He was restless beneath her, unable to push away the sensation that threatened him. He whimpered loudly.

"I'm unsure," she murmured, her lips upon his as she leaned forward. "I can't recall."

She suddenly came to him quick and hard and he gritted his teeth before crying out, his hands tightening around her hips as his own wave of pleasure rose up and overtook him. Hermione watched his undoing, his shuddering spasms, and pressed back to him with a groan, drawing out his gasps. She panted into his neck as she laid upon his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her back. After a little while she moved to look down upon him, smirking slightly, her eyes hooded and seeing only him.

He was still breathing shallowly, shifting under her but holding her close. His eyes finally opened and flickered over her face. After several moments, he asked, "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"No... I don't think you've said that before," she teased, kissing his nose before looking at him again.

"Then you should know... you are beautiful," he whispered in her ear, gently kissing her earlobe, softly blowing into it. They shivered together. He moved his head so his lips pressed to her other ear. "You are beautiful," he whispered again, and she grinned.

His hands moved down her hips, her back, to rest on her bottom. He always loved to kiss her when they were through, as though no amount of love-making could tire him of his affection for her. She eventually slid from him and they laid with their stomachs pressed together. She kissed his neck, running her thumb under his jaw and feeling the faintest of shivers from his body as it responded to her touch.

"You are beautiful," he murmured again, one of his large hands on her back, her cheekbone resting upon the other.

"Not as handsome as you are," she replied, their noses touching briefly before their lips did, neither of them wishing to ever stop.

"What could you possibly find 'handsome' about me?"

His eyes were closed as she outlined his nose, his lips, his eyebrows, her touch lulling him into a blissful state. "What  _ isn't  _ handsome about you?" She did not lie or stretch the truth. She doubted she would ever see a man with stronger, more intelligent features than his, features that may be mistaken as unattractive when they were simply striking, different. He was not handsome in the conventional way, but then neither was she.

"Oh, I could name plenty of things that aren't handsome about me," he replied, opening one eye and staring at her. She gave him a funny look.

"Are you questioning my judgement, Severus Snape?" she asked, her tone one of feigned annoyance.

"Never your judgement," he said, his palm going to cup her cheek, "only your eyesight." He then smiled at her, his lips closed tight and upturned, as though incredibly pleased with his jest.

She looked upon him, feeling as though her heart would burst from the fullness of emotion within her. "Oh, I love when that eye goes all squinty when you smile," she murmured.

His face turned serious and he strained to open his left eye a bit further to compensate. She laughed aloud at the sight and he grinned again, loving her and their easy companionship, feeling joy in the fact that as much happiness as she brought him, he could return the favor every once in a while.

They were not tired, merely sated, and Hermione moved to curl herself against him. She spoke in low tones of her day as Severus twisted her hair between his fingers, engrossed in her words.

When she spoke about the Potters and their four-month-old, Severus asked, "Could they have picked a worse name for a child?"

"You mean 'James Sirius'?" she giggled, knowing how much he disliked both namesakes. "It could be worse."

"Perhaps." Her stomach gurgled and he smirked, caressing it and asking, "Hungry?" She looked at him sheepishly before he bent down to kiss her breast, and then moved to kiss the curve of her belly, and then her hip, and then lower...

.

.

.

"It's the usual flock of whinging first years, all dunderheads, incompetent as toadstools... it's a wonder any one of them passes their O.W.L.s..." he grumbled, his head in Hermione's lap. The first few days of the new school year had left him exhausted and frustrated, and she had been listening to him complain ever since the last class of the day.

"They pass because you teach them, and you're an excellent professor," she said, convincingly, running her fingers through his hair to calm him.

He made a noise akin to snorting before muttering, "At least I'll have some peace for now."

"I do enjoy weekends, although I have a double night shift tomorrow which means I'll be coming home just about the time you're getting up."

A twinge of disappointment fell upon his face, before he tilted his head back to look at her. "It seems that we'll have to use our time wisely, then."

She bent over, kissing him deeply. "Don't we always?"

His hand reached for hers, his thumb sweeping along her long, narrow palm. "Maybe we should go collecting this afternoon – it's a nice day outside, and we can get out of the castle for a while..."

.

.

.

They both landed in a sunny meadow, a cool September breeze rushing through the tall, dying grass at their feet. Gone were the delicate elderflower, hollyhocks, and alliums of summer, replaced by more sturdy plants such as tall goldenrod and white clusters of yarrow. The soil was dark and moist, and the scent of the earth was delightfully pungent. Severus quickly pointed out several small white mushrooms among the leaf litter at the base of a tree and began pulling them out, leaving some to spore later on in the season.

Hermione had slung her old satchel around her shoulder. It was now filled with large glass bottles which clinked as she knelt down to the ground. She unscrewed the metal top to one of them and harvested several handfuls of purple asters. Everything from the petals to the roots had their own purpose in many different brews, and she greatly enjoyed the thought of wasting nothing. She also remembered the adage Severus used throughout her apprenticeship, and still – 'Potent ingredients are harvested by the hand of the brewer.'

Severus was hardly an outdoorsman, but all the same seemed to enjoy finding ingredients – even when he had the misfortune to catch his cape on thorns or cover his shoes in mud. It was strange, but for some reason things didn't seem to bother him as they used to.

Hermione noticed that he had found several patches of rare fall-blooming crocus and knelt down beside him. Her long brown dress, tied at the middle with a dark green sash, was already darkened at the hem from water seeping up from a saturated ground. The ground-hugging flowers before her were goblet-shaped with purple petals and striking yellow anthers.

"Those would be wonderful for a Smelling Serum," she suggested.

"Perhaps – but I have a drink I could make with these."

"What kind?"

"It is my own recipe – something between a dessert wine and a champagne." He was gently pulling the crocuses out of the ground, roots and all, and placing them in a jar.

"How long does it take to make?" she asked, setting some into a container of her own.

"Several hours. It will be ready by dinner, although it is better paired with a dessert."

They found many more fall-blooming plants as well as various species of dead wood and vines, and stumbled upon a colony of wild gnomes who were collecting food to store for the harsh Scottish winter. Hermione noticed a pale yellow skull underneath a thorn bush and summoned it. Its sharp teeth and elongated structure told her it was that of a mink, another interesting find although it was unfortunate none of the fur was left.

Hermione and Severus filled the containers with moss, water which had collected in leaves, bird feathers, and woodlice, until there was no longer any space left even after adding magical extensions to the jars. It was almost as if she had an entire meadow stuffed into her satchel.

Her priority, once returning to the dungeons, was to empty them and sort everything they had found into individualized containers. Severus kept most all of the ingredients in a storeroom which connected his office to the Potions classroom, but kept the most expensive and rare in his chambers. As he cleaned off the crocuses and sliced the petals and thick, long leaves into strips, she labeled new vials and cleaned out old ingredients which had molded or disintegrated. Because of her need for cleanliness and her immaculate eye, the Potions rooms were looking much cleaner than they had in a very long time.

She watched as Severus added ground quartz, a dash of honey, some sneezewort, dried valerian, dragon's blood, and heartvine, boiling the mixture until it was the palest of yellows. He then chilled it by placing the cauldron in the icebox.

Dinner was brought to them by Missy, a rather overweight house-elf who asked them three times if they had everything they needed before leaving. They sat not at the table but in front of the fireplace, leaning against the settee as they sat on the floor, their plates in their laps. He was especially tender, kissing her cheek, taking her plate when she was finished and retrieving two slices of an apple tart from the fireplace. Severus, however, told her to wait as he poured them the drink he had made. She heard the  _ clink  _ of something hitting the bottom of a glass, but when she looked at her glass, nothing was there.

He handed her the drink and they ate quietly, his eyes always going to hers when she tipped the rim back and swallowed. It fizzed slightly in her mouth, light and fresh but very sweet, perfect for pairing with a tart. Severus, for some reason, had turned ghostly white, and the more she drank the more the color left from his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, touching his arm and sipping the rest of the drink. As she tilted the glass vertically, the same  _ clink  _ she had heard earlier caused her to look down. Among the frothy remains of her drink sat a single, gold band.

A ring.

It was so delicate, the vine pattern of her wand mirrored on the yellow metal. She tipped it out, her hands shaking and her eyes filling with tears, for she knew what it meant.

"Hermione... Miss Hermione Granger..." he said, searching for the right words, wanting it to be perfect, his black eyes staring into hers, his trembling hands finding hers. "I... I could not imagine living without you." She let out a little gasp, her brown eyes swimming with tears. "I have never loved anyone, the way that I love you. Will... will you be my wife?"

She burst into tears, unable to believe that his sweaty hands were holding hers, that the words he was saying were coming from his lips. Hermione nodded vigorously, letting him take the ring from her and slide it onto her ring finger. "Yes, yes I will marry you!" she exclaimed, as he embraced her. She held out her hand behind his back, her cheek nestled against his neck, looking over his shoulder at the ring on her hand as the gold glistened in the firelight. "I n-never thought you would actually ask me," she whimpered softly, bringing her hand up to his hair, the other clutching his arm. She buried her nose against the warm skin beneath his ear, tears streaming from the corners of her closed eyes.

"I have been waiting for a long time, but I wanted to know that you wouldn't feel as if you were... settling, for me." The sincere words seemed difficult for him to produce. "I wanted to know that you wouldn't regret it." As the words fell into her ear, she smiled and wept harder. They were more precious to her than the ring – they were the true declaration of his love.

She pulled away from him. "I don't w-want anyone but you," she said, her cheeks stained with tears, her hands framing his face as though feeling it for the first time. "I never have. If anything,  _ you  _ would be settling. I'm just me. I'm just Hermione," she choked.

"No," he said, his hands cupping her face. "You are my life now. You are the best part of me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really truly sorry that it has taken this long for me to update. I have been struggling quite a lot recently, and I felt so ashamed at how long it was taking, I almost couldn't face it. I guess it's a bit of a vicious cycle. But anyways, I've updated at long last, and here's to hoping that it won't take me nearly so long next time. xx


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